Crashed
by Plastic Emotion
Summary: Murdoc's finally done himself in with a hard realization as punishment. But it isn't being a paraplegic that's the tough part. Its the aids who are assigned to him, until one rubs him in such a wrong way...it's almost right...
1. Crashed

**Crashed**

**Summery**: _Murdoc's finally done himself in with a hard realization as punishment. But it isn't being a paraplegic that's the tough part. Its the aids who are assigned to him, until one rubs him in such a wrong way...it's almost right... _

**Author's Note**_: Wow, a Murdoc fic? By me? Oh, my. Well, I'll let you guys know, this is a definite flip from what I'm usually doing, so here's my try at it. Erm, I have a couple of chapters in here, and it eventually will become a romance fic, but towards the middle. I gotta warm you guys up for it. Shorter chapters, more drama, let's have it!_

**&&&**

Bright lights...that's all he could remember. Big bright lights about the size of volleyballs, shimmering like sun rays reaching out to him in all different sizes. It was like staring Russel in the face...but at the same time...it wasn't. There was no soul behind the large eyes...and then, there was unbearable pain...then...nothing. The music had been loud...oh, so very loud...the bass trembling his organs within...the drums vibrating his seat...the voice melting inside his ears...the guitar rattling his brain. He could hardly breathe. The anger contained in his body was too much for him to hold. Why was he angry? Why wasn't he angry? He was always angry. He had been born an angry person...no friends in the world...no family worth calling...no reflection to hold happily. It needed to end...and it almost did...the ringing horn had sounded like part of the song...his head bobbing up and down, his chin knocking against gravity, eyes not focused on anything...and then...and explosion of crimson...

Someone was crying. He couldn't see. Everything was covered in darkness, like most of his personal world. He didn't want to see. The world was a horrible place, even with all its perks. He had everything. What else did he need that this world could offer? That was the problem...it couldn't offer everything he needed.

"SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULENCE! NOW!"

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The hospital was hectic with all its employees running about, trying to tend to everyday people and then, of course, this new celebrity (not that they were more important than anyone else, but the world is always more sympathetic to famous lives), but he _did_ need exceptional medical attention. There was so much blood coming from the deep and extensive gashes on the body, four doctors were working on him at once while two nurses pushed the trolley his lifeless body was resting on to the next room. The man's face was already unusually pale and his breathing was going on and off on its own. Once in his own room, another doctor hooked up an oxygen tank to the poor life, plugging the hose down his throat and a smaller one up his nose. A plastic IV needle was shoved into his arm, three times to be exact in order to find his main vein vessel, his tattered shirt cut off with scissors to suction the heart monitor wires to his chest to marker his pulse. One nurse removed his beloved chain before brushing the messy hair from his eyes, shaking her head sadly while she washed the blood from the gold.

His black studded belt was saved, but his jeans (or what was left of them) were also dissected, the only clothing covering him, his red trimmed underwear, the white color completely gone in heavily absorbed blood and bursted urine. Three doctors cleaned up the gory mess, squeezing bits of skin before injecting all different types of medications and sedatives into his bloodstream. Two others pinched his toes, ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and then reached for the scissors a third and final time, removing the last article of clothing the man had in order to check the bone frame and perform a multiple of tests. If he had been conscious, he would have screamed to all the ends of the earth, the highest of the heavens, and lowest of hell's circles, and even that would have not been enough to release all the torture his body was being put through...but luckily enough for him, his soul was gently resting within the shell of a body that was nearly destroyed without a clue of what was going on out in the real world.

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Inside the home was just as hectic as the hospital, trying to get dressed quick enough, trying to find keys quick enough, trying to meet together in the same spot quick enough without any unnecessary distractions or dangers that loomed around the lands. None of them believed it, but how could they not? There was proof. A body lying in the hospital taken from a scene with the remains of their signature vehicle. The truth was only too hard to take in so soon. Largest in the driver's seat, tallest right besides him, youngest in the back. The back was so lonely, but it was no time to complain. The gates were opened and they were off into the merciless night that had misled their friend into disaster. In a record of fifteen minutes they were in the parking lot of the hospital, each trying to outrun the other in attempts to burst through the front door to their dear friend.

The staff did nothing, nor did they pay any indifferent attention to them when they did come in. They had been updated on the arrival previously and knew better than to stop a nerve wrecked family from seeing a member. However, one assigned nurse did wave to them while they scurried around like roaches trying to avoid the light, leading them into an elevator and down what seemed like a forever hallway of terror and dank evil. More evil than their home. More evil than the boiling opening beneath their home. It was an evil their leader couldn't even handle...and before they knew it, they were before the room.

Three shadows cast across the room from the small peep window in the door. They had come and he was there. Quiet. Dark. Pale.

He glowed of darkness...and revival.

**&&&**

**Author's Note**: _Okay, I must warn people, this story is only going to get darker and darker until I finally bring up some light to the shady story, so for those who like yay happy stories, this definitely isn't it. And look! Its a dark drama written in a new style! Yay for me trying new things! Tell if its good or not! Review!_


	2. Their Visit

**Their Visit**

The door opened quietly, unlike the doors of the old building they were used to living in with its annoying creaks and squeals, aside from groans and other things of the underworld. Gentle tears ran down the face of the youngest as she took the first step in, closer to the rhythmical beating of the monitor and metal puncturing of the oxygen tank emptying every two point three seconds. Her hands were shaking from the heavy emotion filling inside her small chest, unsure of what to do. So badly did she want to pounce him and hold him close to tell him it was going to be alright like he had done when she had been a child and was afraid of anything that was not normal to her. Yet, at the same time, she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to use every bit of self defense, every channel of force, every muscle of pure abuse and knock the soul from his body. How could he do this to her? To them?

Away locked in his mobile room was where he lingered most hours of his life, kept from them all as if they were a disease. It wasn't normal. Nothing in that building was, but he was beyond normal, and they could help him. No one had to be so distant from their family the way he was. As long as they lived under the same roof, they should be understanding of one another, and she was understanding towards him...but he had not returned the commitment. It was infuriating and rejection at the same time. Hanging her head, her hand grasped the tiny gift she held in her hand, wondering what to do with it. He wasn't awake, and it was such a small object she didn't want to lose it.

A thin gangly hand curved to the shape of her shoulder, lightly placing pressure for her to walk, yet giving her comfort as she stepped even further into the room, eyes avoiding the lump in the corner behind the curtain of violet bangs she had. The hand on her shoulder slowly lifted and reached for her other shoulder, spinning her around to the man's chest sharply in an attempt to comfort himself, wrapping his arms around her small frame, covering her vision from the possibilities of the cruel world. Small salty tears dripped into the teenager's hair from his chin, a hard and painful lump choking his cries back from what they could be, his bruised eyes closed for his own good. A much larger, but shorter man cradled them both into his grasp, rocking the two as a single, silent as the passing death, but loudly as the soothing mother...the loving father...trying to keep their children at calm bay when all is lost.

Ages seemed to pass before they moved from that position, almost afraid to part from each other God forbid something worse happen to any of them. Each holding the other's hand, they walked as a unit to the edge of the bed, minds trying to fight past the focus of the hospital additions. He was alive. That was a good thing. Always good to think the positive. The bad was such a long list, none wished to even wander there. The guitarist in the middle, her hands dropped to her sides in a sudden wave of sickness. Slapping her hands to her face, she sobbed, wanting to be alone, wanting to be held. She made a move for the large drummer, burying her face into his arm as she used to when watching a frightening film, and he patted her back, watching the eldest with such depressing entity. The tallest singer, feeling a pain by his forehead, covered his eyes, slowly peeking back to have his bottom lip tremble. The man wasn't dead. But then why were they so heartbroken? Could this have been avoided? Why couldn't he trust them? What had been so wrong that he had to scream every profane word known to man kind, curse everything that moved, and speed away in their famous car? Demon speed, no less.

He gasped, catching the other's attention, as the man in bed painfully and hopelessly opened one eye that wasn't puffed up and bruised...the red one...It circled around the room, not able to focus or take notice of the friends that had rushed to see him. The other eye tried to open unconsciously, the lids barely able to separate, then...the red eye rolled backwards and both eyes closed for a final time. The young male's fingers that had been rubbing his chin jerked into his mouth, teeth chewing his joints as he stared at his two friends, mind thinking the worse while heavy tears dripped down his cheeks, blinding him. "Calm down...he's just out cold." a smooth tremble soothed, the voice of the American member. The heart monitor was still going. That was good news.

A light knock interrupted the mourning atmosphere as one of the patient's doctors peered inside, checking on his clipboard for the patient's name. The three visitors stared at this man like as if he were rainbow colored, a foreign creature not belonging to their world. "Murdoc Nicalls?" he called, and all of them nodded, hands once again united for support towards one another. "Do you happen to know what happened to him?" he questioned, curious to know how much they were informed, but they only shook their heads, knowing only to come to their friend's side. The doctor was younger than most, an intern most likely, hair of amber, eyes of hazel, built rather skinny, but healthy skinny, unlike the bluehaired god before him. His mouth pouted as he figured a way to put this before leaving them once again, "Mr. Nicalls...had a reputation of speeding. We all understood this from previous patients..."

The silence of the room was unusually hateful.

The young doctor scratched his neck, glancing over them all, "He has an irregular heart beat...and he lost a large amount of blood from the crash. We're still unsure if any part of his brain has been affected retardation-wise, but there's a good chance he may have a paralysis. When he came to us..." he trailed off, figuring it was better not to say how incredibly thrown the man had been. It was a miracle he was still alive. "We do not care how he came to you. We want to know how he will come to _us_." the noble Japanese music princess snapped, eyes hidden, but voice strong.

"Well...we aren't sure at the moment. We're still waiting for the test results to come back, Miss, but just by looking at him, I can assure you he won't be returning home for two months or so. The man is breathing out of a tube, he needs help." he explained, pointing his pen at the unmoving body, "Uhm...there's also one or two things I still have to tell you..." The American turned his back on the younger man, ignoring him for the moment, "And that is?"

Glancing over his shoulder, the hazel eyes darted for a moment before returning back to the group, "You have some...visitors...waiting for you three in the lobby." he said in a quiet voice, "They want some details on Murdoc's accident. The staff will not release any information unless his family is alright with it, so you need to take that up with them."

"Tell 'em we 'ave no comment." the bluehead whispered, speaking for them all as their attention went back to their friend. Making a mental note of it, the young man nodded, then wandered his view towards the floor until they noticed him again. "I...have some news you...may or may not wish to hear."

Shaking her bangs from her view, a watery emerald shimmered with a soft tear streaming down her cheek. "Is Murdoc...going to die?" she mumbled, wanting the pure honest truth, but the doctor shook his head with a hopeful smile, "Not to our knowledge. He looks...unkempt...now, but time will pass..." Rubbing his ear, the young man tilted his head, "It's not exactly about his health...I...I'm not sure how to say this in a way that's..." he started in a mutter, angering the dark skinned drummer, "What the hell is it?" The doctor's answer was not at all what they had expected. Nothing in the world could have prepared them for it. Nothing in the world.

"According to eyewitnesses...the vehicle Murdoc was driving had been on a straight course...until the SUV on the opposite road came along. The...geep, is it? The geep only swerved when the other driver was in view...direct full pedal stomped head-on collision...The lighting was alright for night driving, and he actually wasn't speeding before the actual crash. It was just a moment's notice..." he explained, slowly peering at them, "We...we believe it was an attempt at suicide."

**&&&**

Author's Note: -gasp- Murdoc thinking suicide? Maybe? Maybe not...He really can't say much at this point, can he? -pokes- ...eh, nope! Hopefully, I'm doing good. Reviews make me smile and make this story darker...


	3. What We Take For Granted

**What We Take For Granted**

_Filthy liar...disgusting, pathetic, filthy liar._..

_Never would 'e...it wouldn't make sense..._

_The man don't know what he's talkin' about. Damn fool..._

Slowly the bassist opened his eyes, more tired than anything. He had survived some horrendous nightmare and was now finally waking up. What time was it? Where was he? What was this thing stuck up his nose?

"Ohh...Oh God...Wot the 'ell am I on?...Mmmph..." he grunted, his voice raspier than usual. Trying to move his body, he felt his spine shiver, sending chills all around his torso, but that was about it. Come to think of it, why was he laying down? Hadn't he been driving? Was he dead? Was this was being dead was like? It wasn't all that bad then...A surge of pain shot up his arm. He had thought too soon. Another surge. And another. Each more painful than the last, until he could no longer take it. As rough and painful as it was on his throat, the middle aged man released a yell of torture, tears threatening to come to his eyes, but he wouldn't dare let them.

After a long moment, movement was heard and then a yellow light flooded his vision, adding to his welding pain. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" he screamed, eyes squeezed shut as more pain poked into his arm, and he felt a sudden wet coolness against his forehead. "Shut it..." he whispered hoarsely, trying to open his eyes, and the lights soon went off, but the motion of the coolness was not gone. His eyes lifted tiredly, fixing the formation before him into a womanly outline dressed in white. "'ew..." he sighed, but a finger was put to his lips, "Shh...don't talk now. You need yo' rest." The bassist swallowed hard, almost choking on his own saliva, and tried to fall back into his sleep, which was becoming amazingly easy. "Ev'rythin' will be explained teh you in the mornin', Mr. Nicalls..." What the nurse didn't realize was he was still able to hear things...even in his stage of dozing off. "Poor thing...wait 'till 'e realizes..." were bits of what he could hear. Realizes what? Why was there need for pity? As hard as he tried, he couldn't hold onto the living world just yet. He was in an eternal falling, trying to grab hold of something...anything...

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Once again reality was honestly true to him, able to see things and figure their colors, shapes...distinctions. Over and over he twirled the small hard cylinder between his fingers, staring at the dotted ceiling above his head. It was a noodle. A dry noodle that he had woken up with in his hand. Woken up with _bearable_ pain, that is. It was no coincidence. They had come. So he wasn't so worthless after all, and...neither were they. When it mattered.

He wanted to see Noodle right about now. Just to see those eyes. Her eyes held such mystery to him, it was a wonder. For some reason everyone found that certain mystery and enigma in the dullard's eyes, but those eyes held nothing but confusion and delusion. That wasn't mystery. It's cluelessness. Noodle was the one who really held a whole new different emotion within her. It was something that couldn't be explained, but it could be felt. It was the type of motivation which got him writing music...that made his day a little more bearable...that gave him stability. The girl was the embodiment of hope, and that's just what he needed, but...she wasn't around. All he had was the dry crunchy fragile piece of her in his hands. Did she want him to notice that played irony? If so, that was pretty low. The girl had to know better than that. Just look at him. He was connected to tubes and wires. Unable to eat solid food for Christ's sake. What the the point of living when living was such a pain in itself?

What he had tried to do...not a mistake, if that's what they all thought, but he wasn't about to release that kind of information. He'd deny it like the great liar he was and make up some bull about the whole ordeal, blaming some deer or moonlight trick on his eyes for the crash. For a moment he wondered how the other victim made it out, whether they had survived or not...then realized he didn't really care. Not that another loss in the enormous world was such a difference, but people are sure to be connected to that one life he may or may not have destroyed in attempt to demolish his own. Giving himself a mental shrug, his fingers continued to twirl...twirl and twirl the noodle until it rolled from his cold fingers to the ground, cracking in two and disappearing under the bed.

He could always buzz some nurse in, but that would only bother him to some extent since he wouldn't be able to flirt in order to fade his worries away, and he was sure after this crash he wasn't exactly gorgeous. His arm was beginning to get sore and numb when he finally lifted it, stretching every finger with leisure time. His multicolored eyes quietly glanced out the walled windows, having a nice view of the city, little bright dots of yellows, reds, and whites coloring the black of night. It couldn't have been past three in the morning. He couldn't get back to sleep. He wanted company...but just to sit there in silence with him with the lights off. That always calmed him. Another life in the same room, but no connection between the two. It was so alien to him that he loved it. Walking in to check up on a sleeping child...watching the telly with an idiot who more than likely had no idea what was going on...sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer while the largest made himself a midnight snack...all waved in darkness, but no speech taking place. It was such a wonderful point in life.

His favorite and most hated scenario, though, was within his own domain with a favored groupie or call in...both snuggled after a long while of pleasurable action. The feeling of cool darkness was relieving to the heaving chest, a thin arm usually wrapped around him in effort to make the moment memorable...but that was just it. It never was. Faces were all a blur to him. Bodies looked all the same. Voices...antics...the touch of a woman. They were all equal. None stood from the rest and it bore a hatred within him. The more this anger grew, the more he required to fulfill the thirst he could not quench.

Feeling the oxygen force itself into his nostrils, his eyelids slowly blinked, resting half open in boredom. He needed someone now. Not sexual need, but emotional need. Where were the three that acted as if they cared? Around when he was not did not solve any dilemma. "_Damn 'em, then..._" he thought, wanting to leave this healing prison. He didn't need this. He didn't need them. He needed a car. He could just...drive. Drive and drive...until he couldn't anymore. And then...crash.

The male's eyes flickered to the right as his door opened just a crack, allowing white light from the hall enter the room and into his vision, forcing him to groan in discomfort. How he hated the light. The door quickly shut, and the bassist slowly opened his eyes in trust that the pain would be gone, but instead found himself staring into another's eyes. Small brown eyes that held no emotion is what he was facing, and it didn't comfort him. It rose the hate within to a new level. He didn't want this man in front of him. He didn't even want him sharing the same planet. "Wot do yeh want?" he rasped, immediately regretting this act on his behalf.

"I'm Dr. Zachary Cawley, Mr. Nicalls, yo' personal doctor in yo' present condition." he introduced himself. He was a short, pudgy, older man, not balding yet, but in his soon to come years he would be, the grays already showing in the dark black nest of hair he had on his head. He scanned over Murdoc's body, tapping the pen between his fingers on his lip, meeting those evenly matched cold, angered eyes once again, telling the atmosphere had already been set. "Murdoc Nicalls. Pleased teh 'ave yo' arse outta m'...m' fuckin' room..." the bassist tried, chest heaving heavily from the energy used to speak. "Listen, Murdoc, you 'ave no choice but teh listen teh me. It's not like yeh can jus' get up an' sign yo'self out." Dr. Cawley shot at him, and the middle aged man said nothing. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to.

"Yo' friends were 'ere earlier."

Was that supposed to make anything between them better? Poor try.

"Mr. Nicalls...I 'ave some...unfortunate news for yeh...an' I 'ave a feelin' you ain't gunna be too thrilled wit it, either..."

"_No duh. Hence the word 'unfortunate'._" the bassist thought to himself, closing his eyes in effort to make this waste of human life go away. Nothing was said to this comment of special news, and so the doctor continued, "The...you are aware tha' you were in a car crash, right?" he questioned before anything else, and Murdoc slowly blinked, having no interest in this. Crossing his arms, Dr. Cawley looked out at the view of the city, a view that previously and solely belonged to Murdoc, "The crash...was 'orrible. Especially on yo' body. It wos amazin' tha' yeh survived..." he trailed off, his pointer finger tapping against his arm, "The...the other victim wosn't so lucky." At this word, a twist spun in the bassist's gut, both angered and disappointed with himself. Why did _that_ life get _his_ wish granted? The bastard...

"I wos goin' teh wait befo' tellin' you this...but yo' family agreed tha' you should 'ear it and 'ave some time to yo'self." the doctor explained, arching a brow when the heart monitor began to rapidly speed up from such a steady pace, "Mr. Nicalls?" The dark man was now glaring at him with the utmost resentment anyone could ever muster, eyes glowing furiously while his fingers clenched and re-clenched his hands into fists, his chest heaving from the force being pressured on his weak body, but the strength of hostility was overpowering his fragile figure, giving him the ability to lean on his elbows with his teeth clenched in pain, "Get...the fuck...out..." he gasped, gripping onto the side support bar with extreme effort.

Suddenly alarmed, the med took a step closer with fear, "Mr. Nicalls! I strongly advise against doin' tha'! Yo' in no shape teh-"

"Get the fuck out..."

"Murdoc, listen teh me! Yeh can't jus-"

"FUCK OUT!" the bassist screeched, coughing up a bit of blood from the roughness of the scream, but he didn't care. This doctor had directly pissed him off and now, without realizing it, damaged the middle aged man in a way he could never imagine. With a few words thrown into a sentence, a surge of hell shot out in the man like never before, and all he needed to be was alone. He didn't care what unfortunate news the man had to tell him. He wanted him gone, and furthermore, damned. "MR. NICALLS!" Dr. Cawley hissed back, noticing the blood dribbling down the male's chin, "Calm down or I'm goin' teh 'ave teh bring in restraints on yeh, an' in yo' current condition-"

"Yeh fuckin' _bastard_!" the bassist raspingly croaked, leaning upwards, "I'll...get rid o' yeh m'self!" he threatened, yanking off the wires attached to him, squeezing his eyes shut when the medical tape ripped out the chest hairs they were glued on to. Stretching his arm out, the man's doctor thought better of the situation, realizing this might be the answer. Fingers hooked on the bars, Murdoc's expression quickly changed from fury to a blank freeze of depression, a famous expression usually held by his singer. What was...going on? Looking at the two lumps before him, the black haired self made artist closed his eyes, trying with all his might, but no matter now long or how hard he concentrated...he couldn't do it. He couldn't move them. Instead, however, he felt his chest contain a pressure close to explosion from the muscles near these two appendages trying to work, his abdomen cramping horribly.

From one leg to the other, the multicolored set shifted back and forth...back and forth...one to the other...and back again. It was hard to believe that something once able to be controlled was so far out of reach... "No..."

Across the small room, Dr. Cawley shook his head pitifully, pouting his lips in thought.

"No...No..." The words came out faster than the first.

"NO!" he burst, lifting his head as he swung punches to the lifeless limbs, "FUCK! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU TO THE EIGHTH FUCKIN' CIRCLE OF 'ELL WHERE DEMONS RIP THE ORGANS WIT 'ERE BEAR 'ANDS AN' BODIES ARE LEFT TEH DRY, BURN, AN' ROT WIT THE FAGGOTS! MAY PLEAGES TAKE YO' FUCKIN' CHILDREN AN' DISEASE SUCK THE LIFE FROM YEH! FUCK YOU!" he grieved, evil glowing eyes slowly reaching his doctor who had instantly backed away with shivers in his spine, "...Fuck you." Waiting to hear no more, the man fled, fearing some horrendous curse had just been set on him, but it was nothing more than a misunderstood cry of help and angst. He had thought going from forty to one twenty in a matter of seconds would've done it. It would've been quick...it would've been done...

Alone once again in his room, the bassist lied back down, refusing to look at the ceiling anymore. Eyes closed, but spirit at its fullest energy, he turned (with some difficulty) on his side, using more upper body strength than anything. It was true. It was...true. The phrase "life isn't fair" wasn't good enough this time. It was beyond unfair. It was beyond hell. It was a punishment...called _living_. And for the first time since childhood, the dark man shoved his face into his pillow, hiding himself from the real world which caused him so much pain, held his breath tightly to make his head swim, and cried himself to sleep in a lonely empty room.

**&&&**

**Author's Note**:_ I got a little private message today for me to update, and I thought, yeah, they all deserve a new chapter. I've been fiddling with videos on YouTube, so I took a nice relaxing break to write this tragic chapter. Sorry if the Gorillaz seem a little OOC but I try to imagine myself in that predicament, and I'm a very emotional feeling person, but not emotional expresser. That's my sister. She'll cry you a tear for anything. XD _


	4. 3 Months Later

**Three Months Later**

**Author's Note**: _This chapter...is sorta sad...Well, duh, like the rest of the fic, but it really got me sad when I read over it for any little mistakes before uploading. ( Hm..._

**&&&**

He wasn't the same. After that accident, he just wasn't the same. Not to himself, not to anyone. Solitude had risen to a new level, locked away in the mobile home, not wishing to interact with any living creature. Even his beloved pet raven was found fending for itself outside in the pouring rain, finding food without problem, but after befriending a human for the length of time it had, the bird was beginning to get lonely. The young Japanese teen had taken it into her own hands to comfort the betrayed animal, allowing it to dorm in her room on top of Mike, who didn't mind at all, both curled at the end of her bed.

The moment they had brought him home...the moment he realized the large building which held all his success was right before him, his torso stiffened and he avoided any suggestions or thoughts his friends offered him in cheerful spirits, all three hoping to break a usual wisecrack from their uneven tempered friend. This was not the case, however. The instant the large African American strolled the wheelchair through the doorway, the bassist's arms were off, gripping and thrusting at the self-managing wheels, neck snapping from side to side before choosing right and skidding off in that direction. It didn't take long for the band's singer to realize this dangerous move, "MURDOC! Wait! Tha' way's the _stairs_!" he yelled alarmingly, legs swinging through the air at the same time as his younger friend, the largest knowing he would never make it if he started now. Sliding sideways, the violet haired teen froze at the opened doorway to the carpark, eyes locked with the older man's, he understanding that it was too late to try the attempt.

He had struggled to turn the chair backwards in the small space above, ready to roll back and see what would happen from there, but he was stuck in midturn, the walls pinning his wheels in the small angled space. Leaning to the side of the armrest, he rested his cheek into his hand and shrugged, not sure how to explain himself, nor caring to. Small beads of tears were already forming at the corners of the girl's eyes, and had the singer not tripped over his own feet and collapsed right before them, the bassist was sure she would have demanded the true reason for all of this. It was just something he wasn't going to share. She didn't understand what it was like to be rejected. To dedicate a life to work so hard and to eventually mean nothing. None of them did.

He no longer found enjoyment from music. From dark magic. From bullying.

No. The anger that rose from him was no longer taunting or teasing. They were no longer from long boozing nights or indulgences from drugs. Now they were random outbursts, like an unhappy child who was never satisfied with anything anyone gave them. These were more like tantrums...and the longer he stayed in that chair, the more violent he was, whether it was from the body or the mouth.

The second day the handicapped man had been home, Noodle had taken the time from her day to cook him a nice healthy meal of Lobster Thermador, the meat stuffed with spices, some garlic bread on the side, and a light bowl of salad in case he was still hungry, considering the plate was more of a platter than anything. Three or more people could eat from the meal, but this was just for Murdoc, and hopefully it would have him realize that someone had always cared about him. But...her kind act only enraged him.

Rolling in with beads of sweat dripping down his sideburns and neck, the bassist glanced at the food set on the table with a cheerful teen beside it, turning away from the scene to get the beer he came for. "Uhm...I made you lunch, Murdoc. Are you hungry?"

"No." he answered, using the tire to his chair in order to pop the cap off the bottle. Swallowing a quarter of the liquid in one gulp, he suddenly glared at the empty space where the food had been set. Where was the chair? He needed a chair didn't he? Even if he didn't want to eat, who the hell gave anyone permission to remove his chair? "'ow would yeh expect me teh eat any'ow? 'ere's no bloody seatin'." he growled, inspecting her expression. Swallowing nervously with no intention to offend him, the girl shuffled her feet as she glanced away, "Well...I thought since...you already have a seat..." Slamming his bottle against the metal of the wheelchair, the bassist hissed, "Yeh call 'is a seat? Is tha' wot yeh think, yeh ignorant bitch?" Eyes widening, the young guitarist's mouth popped open in shock. Never had he come at her like that. Never. "Murdoc! I only-"

Throwing an unclipped finger at her hard work, he glared at her, "Wanted teh feed me? I wouldn't touch tha' _shit_ even if I wos starvin'. The lobster, or wotever the 'ell it wos supposed teh be, ain't washed out right, ain't cooked right, an' looks like yeh tried teh cover it up wit other crap teh 'ide yo' mistakes. The bread looks burnt an' since when the _fuck_ do I eat _salad_?" he barked, slamming his hand against the table, forcing the girl's shoulders to lurch. "If yo' gunna _cook_, do somethin' right. 'is shit looks poisoned! Are yeh tryin' teh _kill_ me, Noodle?" the man asked darkly in a dangerous voice, completely forcing the play on words, watching the teen's lip tremble as her face paled quickly. Rolling away from the table with the plate in hand, the bassist threw the entire thing, plate in all, right into the trash can, shattering the porcelain without a care. He spun with one arm pushing off the wall, allowing the wheelchair to stroll itself, "Lots o' bullshit 'appens, Noodle. Wot you jus' offered me? Tha' wos class 'A' _bullshit_. An' if you FUCKIN' CRY, I SWEAR TEH GOD I'll put yeh up for adoption in Ireland, yeh 'ear me?! I'm tired o' the SHIT I gotta deal wit you! I AIN'T WIPIN' YO' SNOT AN' CHANGIN' DIAPERS NO MORE! Get off m' _fuckin_' back an' grow the _fuck_ up!"

Hands clamped to her face, Noodle collapsed into one of the table's chairs, giving off muffled sobs, aware of what the man had threatened, but too hurt to care. How could he treat her that way? What happened to her big lovable brother? What was this demon before her? Who was this embodiment of sin?

"MURDOC!"

The two of them lifted their heads and finally noticed the blue haired keyboardist who had been standing off to the side of the doorway since Noodle presented the lunch she had made. Not that 2D was ever threatening or scary to Murdoc, but seeing him angered was a definite shot of yellow in a cloudy sky. "Why'd yeh throw tha' good food away? Noodle's been in 'ere all day cookin' tha' for you! She wouldn't even let me pick at it, tha's 'ow special it wos! An'...an' why are yeh sayin' such mean things? Why are yeh so mean when all we try teh do is be nice? Sayin' fings like adoption when we're all like family! An' yeh go an' make Noodle cry..." the singer pitied, with every word walking closer to the teen, combing his fingers in her hair as his usual way of comfort.

Glaring at them both, Murdoc snarled, "Speakin' o' which, I'm gettin' the bloody papers today. I warned you, girlie." Clenching onto his wheels, he was about to turn when 2D opened his mouth, at cue saying the wrong thing, "No yeh ain't! Noodle ain't goin' nowhere! Russel would make sho' o' tha'. An' I would too! 'sides! 'ow would yeh get teh the place anyways? Me an' Russ wouldn't drive yeh, an' s'not like yeh can-" and at that point, the lanky man paused, realizing a little too late of where he had crossed the line, even though the older man had jumped it long ago. His large orb-like eyes widened even larger when the chair suddenly spun and knocked him to the ground, purposely running him over with the bassist's weight added, "I CAN'T WOT, DULLARD? WOT WOS THA'? I CAN'T 'EAR YEH!"

"NO, MURDOC, I DIDN'T MEAN IT! PLEASE! STOP! OW! MURDOC, _PLEASE_!" the blue haired man cried, having the metal chair crush over his arm and pull back on his wrist, a nasty crack resulting with a painful shriek as the tire caught onto his skin and pulled, ripping a three inch gash from his wrist back. Blood mixed with the tires as tracks of red marked the floor, the torture finally stopping when Murdoc wrenched him off the floor with one arm, breathing furiously into the young man's face, "Yeh think yeh can fuck around b'cause I'm in a bloody wheelchair, face-ache?" Tears and shattered whimpers answered this before Noodle finally broke through, tearing the skinny man from the bassist's grip, still not able to prevent the echoing smack that crossed the young singer's cheek, the uneven fingernails etching a sure scratch or two. "STOP IT!" she screamed, hugging the singer close, away from the danger that was heaving at them. "GET OUT OF HERE!" she screeched at the chair bound male, her usual glowing emeralds melted with a hellish hate. Murdoc stared at the two for a moment, no words mentioned as he glanced at the damage he created, from the singer to the guitarist to the soiled floor to his wheels.

The last bit only restarted the anger he had begun to lose. With one pull at his wheels he hooked the singer towards him, flinging him into the kitchen table, the entire thing collapsing with two chairs as Noodle screamed in disbelief. "...'ave a nice fuckin' life." the bassist hissed, turning out to the hallway to ring the lift, completely ignoring the abused cussing from one teen, and the recoiled gasping of pain, the emotion done beyond tears. Punching the button over and over, the repeating of "Its coming up" irked his infuriation, releasing a disgruntled yelp before the doors opened and he shoved himself inside. Before the elevator could reach the carpark he felt his chest heave naturally, wanting to vomit for the act he had just done, but it was too late now.

Once the doors opened, he realized a dilemma thrown into his face when looking at his Winnebago. How was he going to get in? Especially now, before Russel got to him? If the large man reached him before the bassist could hide in the locked solitude of his precious Winnie, it would be only too easy for the drummer to pummel him slowly, allowing him to endure the pain longer than necessary. That was the last thing he needed right now. He was already about to jump the edge, his mind was thrown, he couldn't deal with anything anymore. His life was just a big joke...they had medication for this...no. He couldn't turn into 2D. That would be a bigger joke within itself. His arms tiredly pushed himself to the front of the door as fast as he could, his strength drained from abusing 2D, hands printed with the young man's blood. His breathing increased as he tried lifting himself, hand snagging onto the door's handle, knowing every second counted. Using the strength he had left, the bassist yanked it open, pulling himself from the wheelchair and gripped the floor, fingers and elbows dragging himself up the steps of his mobile home. He quickly leaned up and pulled the door closed, locking it and laid back, wondering how in the world he was going to get on his bed to sleep with the exhaustion he had worn himself with. He needed to get away from viewable windows and doors, even though the evidence of his blooded wheelchair was right outside the "room", he would feel much safer.

After fifteen long minutes of pulling himself to the end of the Winnie, the bassist's eyes began to tear, and he snagged at his mattress, resting his head on the side of his bed. He had made it...not on it...but close enough. He let the tears flow down his cheeks and nose, dripping off his lips onto his lap. If only he could kick the wall. That was his only wish, and he couldn't even have it. A loud hard knocking rapped on his door, and he lifted his head, horribly spooked. Please..._please_ let the door hold...

After what seemed like forever of the door being kicked, hit, punched, and a load of loud swearing from the drummer, it sounded like they had left, leaving the eldest to rest on the bed he finally managed to climb on and cover himself in his quilt. "Why'd yeh do it...boff 'o yeh...yeh boff...yeh boff did it...I tried...I really did..." he whispered to himself over and over, hiding within the comfort of his dirty quilt, now covered in blood stains and tears.

"_Did yeh 'ear about..._"

"_Yeh...I did...But...why'd 'e do it?_"

"_Life got to 'im...'e tried an' tried...but it never worked out for 'im...'e 'ad the determination...why didn't you come out wit tha' determination?_"

"_...Wot the 'ell are yeh talkin' about? My life is set! I got m' own band! I told yeh tha' ages ago!_"

"_You've 'ad a band ever since you were a boy, Muddy...yo' brother...now 'e tried fixin' wit 'is life...but you never tried...why'd 'e 'ave teh go, Murdoc? Why did 'e do it?_"

"_I don't __**know**! Why are yeh askin' me? Did yeh take yo' medication? Oy, wot year is it?_"

"'_e wos such a good boy...never any problems..._"

"'_ow can yeh say tha'! 'e never gave a damn about yeh! Dad either! 'ey were both bastards teh yeh an' all yeh can care about are the people 'ew screwed yeh over! Wot 'appened teh me! Wot about me! 'ew comes teh visit yeh ev'ry month, an' pays for yo' rent, an' yo' meds, an'-_"

"._...I miss 'im...Hannibal..._"

"_MY NAME IS MURDOC! MY FUCKIN' NAME IS MURDOC! GET THA' THROUGH YO' THICK, FOGGED, FUCKED UP-_"

BAM.


	5. There's a Reason for Everything

**There's a Reason for Everything**

The Winnebago rocked for a moment as Murdoc woke, screaming his head off before shoving his face into his pillow to muffle his own screams. For a moment, he didn't even realize it was him. It was that dream again. Not really a dream, but more of a memory...almost three and a half months it had been since...

Shaking himself, the bassist wiped the sweat and tear mix from his face, looking at the digital clock blinking a four twenty on his side table. A three hour sleep and that's what he managed to sleep with. Perfect...Covering his face, he tried turning over and wrapped himself in his quilt which was beginning to smell like rotten blood from his previous attack on the lanky singer. That man had the habit of either butting in or hanging around in the wrong place at the absolute worst time...but had he not...poor Noodle would have been more destroyed than the damage done. He wouldn't be able to face her. Not for a long, long time. He didn't want that to happen again. Running a hand through his hair, the bassist sniffed, snorting up a bunch of phlegm at the same time, "Ugh...I didn't mean it...swear teh God I didn't mean it..." he whispered, referring to his dream, but any outside listener could had determined it for Noodle, and/or, to a far fetched certain extent, 2D. Looking around lamely, he understood he couldn't do anything, nor was his body in the shape to be able to do anything, so he did the only thing he could do. Roll over, and fall asleep once more.

&&&

It had been only a few minutes before Russel came back to Kong after having gone grocery shopping. They had been running low, and Noodle had decided to use up all their ingredients to make Murdoc a special meal. Knowing the girl was oh too determined to take no for an answer, he realized more food was needed to survive the week (or at least until the next morning), and so he had gone off to retrieve some, but upon returning to his kitchen with four bags in each hand, he paused in a terrorized shock, unbelieving of the sight before him. The entire room was one gory mess with Noodle in hysteria over the band's singer who wasn't out for the count, but his eyes (and only those who knew him well enough could tell through his eyes) held such a far away look to them, Russel knew this was something only Murdoc could do. But how?

After staring at the floor for a good minute, he realized the wheelchair had done a good portion of damage. Who would've guessed that a man in a wheelchair could have destroyed his kitchen, a frail singer, and the confidence of government trained teenager? It was amazing the kind of foul acts the world had ready to throw at you. Knowing he had to act fast, the large man heaved the singer into the living room, snapping at the young girl for not moving fast enough. "Noodle! Go an' get some wet rags! I gotta get him to the hospital! His arm's all messed up!" The teen had raced back into the kitchen, trying to ignore the mess and memories to gather some moist paper towels to help her friend in need. The singer slowly blinked as everything around him moved quickly, the motion going too rapid for his mind to comprehend. "_Why, Murdoc? I wos on'y stickin' up for Noodle...she's our friend...she wos bein' nice to yeh, she wos...why d'yeh gotta be so mean for? Yeh ain't no different from 'ew yeh were before the accident...we don't see yeh as no different...no better, no worse...so...why? Why d'yeh gotta be so... fuckin'...fuckin' demonic...?_" the singer thought to himself, worrying Noodle as she called his name over and over, but he didn't respond. He was too busy questioning questions that would never be answered.

Making sure the thin man's arm was soaking the blood anywhere else but the floor, Russel carried him gently down the stairs, to the carpark, and into the singer's blue car, knowing he always left the keys in the ignition so he wouldn't lose them, and kept the car's doors unlocked when parked. Of course, this was the worst possible habit to have, especially when zombies were known to get into anything unlocked, but Russel had checked beforehand, and quickly placed him in the backseat, waiting for Noodle to hop in beside the young man, but she was nowhere near them. Instead, he saw the handicapped band member's Winnebago being threatened with harsh kicks, heartfelt punches, and at one point, the girl allowed her fists to pound against the door as she slid down, her infuriated tears marking the door.

Grabbing the teen's arm, the drummer yanked her roughly, knowing time was not on their side, "Noodle! Let's _go_! Let the fuckin' bastard rot in there for a while. He gets _what he deserves_!" he boomed, throwing one last punch at the door, adding to the numerous amounts of dents the guitarist bestowed upon the man's mobile home. Rushing the girl to the backseat of the car, the drummer took off, demanding to know what had happened on the way. The more Noodle explained, the harder it was for her to cope with the recent past, curling up against the singer's chest as he poked his arm lamely, the look still holding in his eyes. For a second, she could have sworn he wanted to vomit, but he held it back, resting his cheek on hers, whispering for her to cry, and that it was okay to, because he couldn't. And she did. All the way to the hospital.

"I can walk, Russ." the lanky man announced quietly when they arrived at the same hospital they had come from days ago to pick up their leader. He proved his word as he carefully stretched each leg out from the vehicle, eventually lifting himself up and out of the seat, knowingly heading for the emergency room before he lost any more blood. Noodle meekly followed, grabbing the drummer's hand as they walked together, allowing the blue hair ahead to lead them in. They sat in silence as usual hospital noises bypassed them, having no effect while they meditated restlessly within their own minds. It was a while before the singer came back to them, his arm stitched up and in a metal brace. Apparently his wrist had been broken in three different places when he had "tripped down the stairs while flicking his switchblade." The young man had become very good at lying. For him, it had almost become a second language.

So, instead of a cast, the doctor explained that the wound directly below the wrist injury needed to be open to the world in order for it to heal properly, thus having the wound barred by an ugly metal brace, rounded about the arm right to the elbow, resembling an arm caught in an egg beater, not to mention it did add a bit of weight to one side of his body. "Let's go." he sighed, ready to lay in bed until his newly prescribed painkillers took him away into a familiar world of unconsciousness. Taking his good arm, Noodle rested her head against his elbow, poking her fingers through the spaces between his, all very calm once seated in the unmoving car.

Glancing back, Russel rubbed his face, knowing the fact needed to be brought out, "Look...this is gettin' outta hand. You said he completely lashed out...an'...I can see it. There's enough proof for three of me." he muttered, sitting back in the driver's seat, "We bring him home...an' he tries to wheel himself down the stairs. Anyone tries to get near him, an' he tries to punch you...or throw somethin' at you...look, someone's gotta say it. The man's lost it. An' I ain't dealin' with him." the large male announced, shaking his head while he faced his lap. He was honestly through with Murdoc and all his antics. He understood that the man had just suffered his legs, and yes, that was painful and emotionally heartbreaking, but there was no need to act the way he was. People had suffered more than he and they were doing just fine. Or close to it.

He needed help...but the African American drummer knew none of them were going to have the heart to check the man into some kind of institution, never mind the fact that he would never forgive them if they did, but something had to be done.

"...Murdoc's not crazy."

The atmosphere was a bit quiet after the bold remark from their blue haired friend, but he ignored this little factor, glancing out the window while Noodle sighed into his arm, making the hairs on his arm stand up, "...Murdoc's not crazy." They didn't know what he knew...the moments before the bassist stormed out of their residence...the words that were said...the reactions that had phased on the dark leader's face. They had no absolute clue. However, his larger friend only sighed defiantly, "D...look...I know you have his brother bond to Muds...for whatever reasons, alright...but...you of all people should understand where I'm going with this. He just skinned your ass from here to the corner an' you don't call that crazy?"

"'ere's motive."

"Motive? _Really_. Like when there's been a motive every time he broke one of your arms or smashed your face or knocked your teeth out or-"

Slowly looking at the black man, 2D held a serious facade, one that wasn't so common on him, "You don't know, Russ. Yeh can't tell me you can tell the difference when Murdoc 'its from drunkenness...bad days...crankiness...poor practices...stress...anger...fury...yeh don't _know_ Murdoc like I know Murdoc...b'cause I'm the one 'ew feels 'is pain when no one else is around. I'm the one 'ew 'ears wot 'e 'as teh say before 'e locks 'imself away...'e 'urts more than any o' us could...an' 'e's alone." the singer admitted, patting the teen's hand beside him while he talked. "'e 'as a real big motive for actin' the way 'e's doin'. I know...I saw 'im right before 'e left...y'know...before...the accident."

Before the singer spoke, the car was filled with angered silence. Now, the climate was changing...for the better? No...not better...but maybe...just a bit more...sympathetic. What could the singer have possibly seen to make him so accepting of the dark man's actions? Shrugging, Russel turned himself around to face the singer, having a hard time doing so, but eventually he completed the task. "What...what was he doin', man? I mean, what happened to him to make you so forgiving to that-"

"'ew said I wos so forgivin' to 'im?" the blue haired keyboardist asked briskly, arching an eyebrow at the large male before him. There was quiet once again in the car. The drummer's silver eyes glanced from the Asian to the Brit, wondering where he had lost himself in this conversation. Fingering at his brace, 2D looked down softly, lids half closed as he felt the metal, hard as the bassist's abuse and cold as his heart, "Yeh can't forgive someone 'till 'ey apologize...I ain't upset wit 'im or nothin'...but I'll be waitin' for the day. It's jus' the principle o' things. Yeh gotta deserve forgiveness, right? It ain't free. But...tha' night..." the man strode off, becoming very interested in his own reflection on the metal. That's it. His attention had broken off from the serious conversation, losing touch with reality for the moment.

Russel sighed as the Japanese teen nudged the singer, calling his name gently, "2D-san? Please...continue." Looking around for a couple of seconds, the pale man's face stretched into uncomfortable looking expressions, finally offering his goofy smile at the girl, "S'gettin' stuffy in 'ere, ain't it?...Can we go 'ome? I want some...coffee." he ended offly, staring out the window without another word. Obviously he either wasn't going to tell them or the pills he had swallowed dry in the hospital room were taking effect on him. Slowly looking at Russel, Noodle nodded, knowing how the singer worked when certain situations brought things up that he just didn't like talking about. Besides...as much as she didn't _want_ to care...she knew Murdoc was home alone...and probably needed them, causing a mush of guilt in her belly for taking out her anger on his door. By doing that, she most likely pissed off the bassist even more, but right now, she really didn't give a damn. And this depressed her. She knew she didn't want to feel that way...he was her brother...her protector...her family. She couldn't help but remember when first seeing him in that bed...hooked up to machines...looking absolutely helpless...fragile...and according to 2D, the man was feeling this everyday, but by the way the dark one acted, one could hardly get that idea.

Swallowing roughly, the teen gave him another nod, releasing the young man's arm, "We can go." Turning in his seat to face forward, the hip hop expert grabbed the steering wheel, grip tight, but soul loose. "Guys...I can't...I can't understand...why Muds would want to..." The words seemed so hard to say. Murdoc Nicalls...wanting to end his life. It just didn't add up. "I can't be watchin' him twenty four hours...none of us can. We got lives...He ain't a kid...but he needs help. Not just mentally, God knows he's been needin' that for years, but physically, too. Me an' D can only deal with helpin' him to the bathroom an' stuff only so much." he added, glancing at Noodle from the rear view mirror.

"The doctor said 'e might get better...'e won't do the exercises...'e 'as a chance...but..." the singer whispered, watching the birds on the roof of the building peck each other for whatever reasons they had. Looking at them both curiously, the teen felt her chest swell painfully, wondering what Russel was getting at, "You are not sending him away." she growled, fists already forming. Shaking his head, the drummer agreed, "No, baby girl, no. We couldn't do that to him...especially now of all times. He does need us to a certain point...y'know, emotional support if he is tryin' to...well, anyway, I was thinkin' an aid. Y'know, one that comes to our house an' helps him out. Maybe we can get an all day, all night one...keep an eye on him so he don't do anythin'...dangerous." he ended quietly, starting the car up.

The singer and guitarist exchanged somber indications of agreement, avoiding eye contact with each other and the dark skinned one. "I'll call one in when we get home." he hummed, taking a turn into the highway. Buckling his seatbelt, the thin male scratched his cheek with a sniff, watching how the land had already begun to change the closer they headed home, "After the coffee."

**&&&**

**Author's Note**: _Its nice that I have some people on my tail for updating this fic. That means its good! ...Right? Anywho, I've been listening to the Nightmare Before Christmas Soundtrack...my favorite movie for those who care to know. XD Yeah so...here's chapter 5. And I'm coming out with a new oneshot, again for those who care to know, called "Fear Itself". _


	6. Truth

**Truth**

It was a puddle of mud floating in a cup by the time the blue haired singer glanced at the beverage he had talked about in the car an hour ago. He was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his eyes, now on the mug of cold coffee, blinking and glancing around every so often. He was waiting for Russel to come back. The drummer had gone down as soon as they came back to talk with Murdoc, probably to let him know what they were about to do...or scold him about his anger outburst, but an hour later...there sat 2D, still waiting. Noodle had gone to her room, refusing to converse with the bassist or anyone at that point for that matter. Licking his lips, 2D rubbed under his nose and shook his head, leaning back and taking a deep breath. He was getting nauseous for some reason or another, no doubt from downing those pills previously in the hospital for his caned arm resting on his lap. He should have had a glass of water as soon as walking through the front door, but he refused, wanting to make that coffee he insisted on, and now...now it wasn't wanted. It never was. It was a mere diversion.

He had never seen him so...scared before...he didn't _do_ scared...or worried...or even emotional...but fear was over the top down right from the Twilight Zone...

"D?"

The singer slowly adjusted his eyes, realizing he had been staring at the glob in his mug rather than anything else, tiredly gazing over at the large man at the doorway. "You haven't touched yo' coffee, man." the drummer observed quietly, taking a seat with an exhausted mug to lean on his cheek. The young man ignored this comment as he did with an insult and swallowed to clear his dry throat. Time passed the two males, no words, no sounds, no movement. "He won't answer." Russel finally mustered, leaning back into his chair while looking out the window. Taking a deep breath, the singer rested his good hand on the brace, "I figured as much."

"He also locked himself in. I couldn't open the door." the dark skinned man admitted, his famous vacant stare eying the gray clouds against the darker gray sky. Blinking slowly, 2D offered a simple nod, feeling that was enough of an answer. Standing up, Russel pushed his chair in, "I don't know how to tell him, man...He's gunna hate us...not that I care, but...still..." The drummer really wasn't sure what to do in his situation, something that hadn't occurred to him in a long while. Shrugging, the singer rubbed his shoulder, closing his eyes. When he slowly opened them, the mug he had eyed for the longest had disappeared, sparking his interest of worry for the moment. "My-"

"Dumped it." Russel said flatly, arching a brow at him, "You were never going to drink that crusted mush anyway." Sniffing lightly, 2D finally took a chance to stand up and stretch his legs, also pushing his chair in, "You didn't know tha'..." he whispered spitefully, letting his heavier arm hang by his side as he leaned against the counter. Shakily reaching into his back pocket, Russel slid a small, business card sized paper over to the thin man, tapping it before crossing his arms, "Well...good luck, man. Don't sound spaced, all right?" Furrowing his brows curiously, two bony fingers snatched at the paper before Russel could make his exit, flipping the turned over information to eye level. "Wot's 'is, Russ...I ain't makin' tha' call."

Facing towards the doorway, Russel sighed, his massive shoulders rising and descending with the breath, "D...if I'm the one who's gunna break the news to him...then I can't make that call. And you can't tell him, 'cus God only knows what else he'll do to you...and Noodle..." he ended, slightly raising his hand to let 2D know he didn't need to continue the reason. "Please, D..."

Holding the paper loosely in his grip, the bluehead let his eyes wander to the number, dreading the moment he punched in those numbers. Murdoc would most definitely kill him when he found out, even in his hermit state. No one would tell, but Murdoc would find out. He always did.

"I will do it."

The men's attention snapped to the kitchen doorway, the well loved axe princess standing in her own depression, yet still willing to be strong. Her bangs covered her eyes entirely, but by her firm upper lip, they could both tell she was serious about the matter. But was she stable enough? Giving her a gentle pat on her shoulder, the mountain of madness rumbled gently, "Baby girl, none of this pressure is being placed on you..." "I'll do it." the singer interjected, pushing off the counter, waving the paper slowly, but the teenage guitarist shook her head, walking towards him for the bit of information, "No...I will. I want to. Please." she begged quietly, extending her open palm. Arching a brow at Russel, 2D held the paper tightly, unsure of what to do. Give the girl the responsibility to call or leave it up to someone who really didn't want to do it? But however his feelings or pain, the young man wouldn't leave any regret on the good teen of Kong. "Noodle..." he said quietly, allowing her to take the paper from his hand, glancing at Russel for some help. Reading the number a sure three times, the Asian guitarist took a slight breather, "Not for spite, nor revenge...anger or pity...but for love." she nodded gently, exiting the room to make the call in the living room.

Watching her leave with a sad mug, the singer walked near the doorway and leaned on the wall, eavesdropping ever so quietly as did Russel. This was a recorded memory that they wouldn't be able to forget. Not even if they tried.

&&&

Thamp, thamp, thamp.

The sound was faint.

Thamp, thamp, thamp.

It was getting louder.

Thamp, thamp, CUNK!

The bassist's eyes flew open with the sound of crunched metal, wondering where the bothersome noise was coming from. Not much had happened since crawling into his bed this morning. According to his clock, he had been trapped in his own room for a good couple of hours, the digital eight fifty one blinking every two seconds. Widening his nostrils, he expanded his lungs (or tried to), coughing when the rusty smell of crusted blood flowed through with oxygen. He had to admit, he smelled like complete waste, not to mention he needed to urinate as soon as his body was aware of consciousness. How was that going to work aside from knowing how disgusting his toilet was? He was sure the thing was clogged or something. It hadn't been able to flush right for three years straight.

Whatever the reason, whoever was outside the door could shove it up their arse. He wasn't going to answer the door (obviously), or make it known that there was life within the Winnie. Screw them all. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. Not know anyone...not own anything...not be anyone. That was his only wish, but it was wretchedly destroyed when an unfamiliar (yet the fakeness was very known) deep voice greeted him, wavering when the sight of him covered in a bloody blanket was in clear view.

The bassist's eyes widened in infuriation and shock as his head snapped up, shooting the stranger an evil glare of hatred, "'ew the FUCK are yeh!" he bellowed at the brunet headed man, a bit short for his young age, but a nose pulled so far up the dark man could tell all the foods this man had had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The male's watery green eyes blinked for a moment, not expecting such a nasty greeting, but brushed it off quickly, remembering the condition of the one before him. He wasn't exactly all there in the head to begin with, and now without use of his legs, he was bound to be worse. "I'm Edgar Lucius, sir. Pleased to meet you. I've been hired to assist in your needs."

Taking this in the most negative way possible, Murdoc screeched, yanking his clock from his desk and ripping the cord from the socket, throwing it directly at the man, having him jump to the side in shock, "GET THE FUCK OUT YEH QUEER! DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED ASSISTANCE! OUT! I SAID GET OUT! GO TEH 'ELL!" The bassist's wishes were granted as soon as his shotgun was charged in his hands, a few rounds gone off as threats. Arms shaking, the older man glanced at the gun, wondering why he hadn't used it yet...no. Not with a gun. Not with a _gun_. NO. He absolutely refused, throwing the gun as far from him as reachably possible. Fuck that to hell. "Fuckin'...guns..." the moptop grumbled, curling his torso back into the quilt as soon as he was sure the man wasn't coming back. He had a lot to forget...

&&&

It wasn't long before this Edgar fellow ran up the stairs, reported the actions and bid the three a goodnight, permanently leaving the lands for good. Noodle covered her face when she sat on the couch, understanding the situation and trying to figure a way to tackle it with methods. After all, she was military trained. This should have been her specialty, to figure out this messy puzzle. But the harder she tried to solve it, the harder the puzzle became, increasing levels before she could beat the last. Sighing hard, the axe princess rested back, leaning her head in her palm, giving the drummer a curious stare when he only sat there, slurping up a carton of ice cream with a blank stare. "He's dangerous now..." Noodle mumbled, receiving a grim, hurt glance from the band's singer, rubbing the brace along his arm. This had become habit for him in the few hours having it on. "'e's always been dangerous, Noodle...jus' not to you." he whispered within earshot, possibly breaking the wall the teen was building up in her mind.

This small fact was true. Never had the bassist hurt her in any way...well...when he was normal. He had been aggressive earlier, but she was passed all that now, and was ready to take anything he had to throw at her. She would push her emotions into storage for the moment, treat him as a stranger if she must, and fix a beginning problem. Obviously neither of her friends had told the emotionally hazardous man there was help on the way. Nodding assuredly, the teen dusted herself off and closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on what she needed to do, preparing herself for the danger she might encounter. Pecking the bluehead on the cheek for the realization, she left them both, having them notice she was heading down to the carpark before they could stop her. Quickly running down the stairs, she eyed the beat up Winnebago, door whining on its hinges as it swung loosely, the handle off to the side, seemingly thrown after it had broken off.

She could slowly feel the guilt run against her chest, but as trained, she swallowed it and continued towards the mobile home, ignoring the fact that he was in there...that he had hurt her feelings...and torn up her best friend. She slightly paused for a moment before climbing up the steps, listening for any sign of life, but when she heard none, she grabbed the side handle, helping herself up the stairs and into the Winne kitchen. Her green orbs wandered to the floor, noticing his prized shotgun, carelessly tossed without regret, a few bullets leaking out from the broken barrel. Dried blood stank up the area and decorated the floor, leading into the leader's quarters where a crumpled lump of mass laid, the smell growing stronger the closer she got. His entire body was covered in the filthy, blood spotted quilt, but nothing moved. Not even his chest to breathe. Clearing her throat purposefully, the Asian teenager crossed her arms, awaiting some form of rude expression to smack her ears, but...nothing. Again, she made the scratchy noise, but the form did not respond. Halfway fearing he had suffered a heart attack once remembering the doctor's comment about his abnormal heartbeat, Noodle grabbed the covering off of his head, his messy black hair flipping every which way, nearly caving his ear.

"Murdoc." she called strongly, not a question of who or what, but of positivity, "I know you hear me." she frowned, pressing on the mattress a couple of times to move him without directly touching him. It took all of her bravery to stay in that horrible smelling jail cell. "I have a few things that you need to get through your head, so you better listen up!" she threatened, eying any sudden movements at her (or at all), but still nothing. "Murdoc!" the girl called again, tapping her foot on the floor lightly, becoming impatient, but breathed a sigh of relieve when he finally did answer. Still facing away from the almond eyed prodigy, Murdoc slowly opened his eyes, keeping them halfbased as he gazed off at his wall, his fingers gently uncurling the blanket's edge, "Go away..." he whispered, nothing more than mouthed air escaping him. He sounded so weak...not even in his sickest form would he have allowed his gruff voice to disappear.

"No." Noodle answered without waver, crossing her arms once more, "I am not leaving until I am done with you. I do not care if you reply or not, but you better listen because no matter what you think will change what is going to happen. You are going to receive and accept the aid assigned to you, do you understand? Your behavior is unacceptable and...we are not willing to put up with it." she made clear, almost allowing her feelings to settle back in, but she quickly retained her emotions, making note to release them into one of the other's shirts, far away from this male before her. "You may not want to hear this, but you need to face truth. I know this is something you are not familiar with, but evidence does not offer false hopes, Murdoc. You are disabled. You cannot do things by yourself in your state. You have suffered a trauma, and therefore you must be counseled. There is no other choice for you. There is obvious sense that you cannot handle what has been thrown at you, which is perfectly normal. There is hope for you, Murdoc. I can see it. But we must take matters into our own hands for you to see it as well." she finished with a soft nod, but the bassist denied every word coming from her mouth, giving off a blank blink, "'ere's no 'ope, Noodle...jus' leave me 'ere. I don't care...Don't worry about anythin'. Anythin' at all. Find someone, Noodle. Make sho' 'ey like music. Music..." he sighed, closing his eyes, scaring the teen in the few seconds of his words. "Murdoc did you hear what I just said?" she asked forcefully, holding back the shivers she obtained from the little speech, but he didn't answer. Backing away, the girl ran out of the mobile home, unable to handle a fear she was unknown to have.

She terrified the two men on the second floor when she dug herself between the them, trembling, stuttering, and eventually breaking down crazily, shaking in the singer's grip. She thought her idea was foolproof. Let him know what's what and that was it, but no. He came back in a way she hadn't expected. He let _her_ know truth, and she was horrified by it. This wasn't just about the tragedy of his legs or the attitude he had gained from the accident. It wasn't lies...it _wasn't_ an accident. He wanted it. He still did. There was something wrong with Murdoc, and the faster they got him the help, the sooner Noodle would stop developing tragic nightmares that wouldn't end once she woke up...the sooner her fear would die down...the sooner her heart would beat happily instead of anxiously.

&&&

She wouldn't understand, not even if she tried. She didn't know the meaning of pride...anger...disappointment...loss...He didn't blame her. It wasn't her fault, but he'd be damned if she tried walking in to lecture him on what he needed to do with his life. He spent forty years trying to mush together what he wanted to do with his life. Still wasn't good enough. Still didn't count. She was full of potential. Reminded him too much of...

Shifting roughly, Murdoc reached over, pulling the curtain that he had installed way back when to separate his room from the rest of the Winnie, and laid down, staring at his ceiling. Sighing, the bassist ignored the pain in his abdomen from having to pee and shut his eyes, "So close...so far away..."


	7. The Trail of Trials

**The Trail of Trials**

It was hours before Murdoc woke up, this time both dizzy and nauseous from lack of urination, yet too weak to complain. Biting back his whines, the dark man carefully lifted himself, looking around in hopes for a container of some kind. His hand ran under his bed, along the side, and behind, but there was nothing that could hold liquid. Yanking open a drawer from his nightstand, the man sighed sadly as the entire shelf flew out from the force, spilling all sorts of contents around his floor, including an empty beer can. Luckily it wasn't bent, but it had rolled under the separation curtain and was probably on the other side of the Winnebago. Nonetheless, he needed that can. But in order to fulfill his needs, the middle aged male was going to need to cross over the open knives, pins, belt buckles, and other dangerous objects that lay in his way.

Throwing his legs off his bed as if they were filled with beans, the bassist glared up ever so slightly before using every muscle in his upper torso to maneuver himself around the items, "God..._why_ do yeh _'ate_ me..." he grunted, dragging himself after smacking the items away, "I know I definitely ain't yo' type...an' you ain't mine...but..._why_? Why can't yeh jus'...leave me alone...?" Fingers gripping on the hard, grooved rubber, Murdoc pulled himself along, slowly, painfully, and regretfully, scraping his chest along the floor of his roomy cage. The floor rubbing against his abdomen was no helping factor either as he stretched his arm out, desperately trying to reach the can that was finger tip length away, but not enough to snatch it up. "Oh Christ..." he breathed, closing his eyes to rest his forehead against the ground. This was it. He was going to have to urinate on himself before his bladder exploded and poisoned his blood with waste.

He was down...out...and in his final days, alone...worse than a homeless philandering bum, about to be covered in the worst fluids marked in mankind. He allowed his fingers to pass along the side of the can, sending it into a far spin from his reach, listening to the metallic thud hit against the bottom of his cabinets and flick off one of the front seat's mounting bars...then, it stopped. Where a hallow thunk should have vibrated and slowly disappeared was interrupted silence. Gently gripping in his fingers, the bassist's arm slunk back to his body, taking the few seconds he had to breathe in and slowly lift his head, eyes rising to the full length they were forced to in order to solve the question of 'who done it.' The large red and white converse should have answered the man immediately, but there was much more to the reason of why he made himself share the connection of eyes. It wasn't so much the eyes he was interested in...but the arm. It was in a brace, stitched up within, but obviously complicated mobility. The gash had been a nasty one...the stitches were neat and clean, but...numerous.

"S'empty."

The voice seemed to rattle the bassist's mind, echoing over and over to remind him of every tormenting beating the singer had faced, places switched of course, with the tallest on the floor, looking up at the unhealthy, but more muscular man. Again, fear was an unknown factor to Murdoc, but seeing this giant against him when he was helpless and halfway useless...it was beyond fear. Pushing himself up, the multicolored eyes scanned what had been behind him, grabbing anything to get away from the mellow creature. It was a strange sight to watch someone go along anxiously without the use of their legs. But not other without the use of them, just...pulling along dead connected objects. Sadly for the moment, it reminded the young singer of a zombie movie he favored, how the creatures were able to rip off their own limbs without a care in the world, using them to their advantage. This was not how it was in the real world. Zombies did exist. And so did Murdoc.

This Murdoc, however, was different. This Murdoc was much nicer to be around, as horrible as it sounded, but truth be told, he could not do a thing, and that was the nicest relief anyone who had ever been abused could feel. Though with an object...with bear skin he was still dangerous, the evidence attached to the singer's arm, yet...the response to his own presence was sadly invigorating...and depressing at the same time. "Feels bad, don't it." he said quietly, long, skinny digits curling up, "Down an' yeh can't get up. Feels...'orrible, eh? _Sucks_, yeah?" he frowned, watching the bassist rip the curtains across, pulling the blanket over himself rather than climb back up. He didn't want to see anyone. He hardly wanted to hear anymore.

"No one around...all's at lost, Murdoc...not fair, is it?" he sighed, glancing at the can in his hand, "All alone...damn well 'urts. An' its scary. Not knowin' wot's gunna 'appen in a moment's notice." he continued, slowly pulling the curtain back to fall his gaze on the covered mass resting against the floor. One hand lifted the filthy blanket just enough to reveal the bassist's lifeless arm, placing the can in a cradle between the limb and chest, lowering the blanket again, "We ain't givin' up on yeh, Muds...yeh gotta pull through...yeh jus' gotta..." the blue haired keyboardist mumbled, making his leave, "Of all the tragic 'ero's in the world...yo' m' favorite." The bago rocked gently as the young man stepped off, leaving the other in lonely peace. The lasting words imprinted themselves in the older man's mind, but all he focused on at the moment was unzipping his pants, aiming right, and hoping he wouldn't overflow.

&&&

A thin finger slid around the living room coffee table, spinning around in circles before finally pulling back into the hand forcing it. It was no secret that Noodle was nervous while her best friend made the call this time, staring at him as he ignored her, giving his nails a once over, deciding to clean them up after chatting.

"Yes...yes...no. I don't fink it'll be a good idea for another...erm...can yeh jus' make sho' its a woman 'is time? 'e tends teh be calmer around 'em..." the young man pleaded lightly, raising his brows while he talked. "No, I'm not jokin'." he remarked darkly, resting his hand against his thigh to strum his fingers in annoyance. The guitarist rested her arms in front of her, slowly burying her chin within them as her bangs covered the emotion in her eyes. She had badly wanted to make this call, but 2D felt he was obliged to do it, and even more so ever since he emerged from the Winnebago. He had been on his way to his room to gather up some dirty laundry for Noodle who was about to wash when he heard groaning coming from the once dead silent wagon. Knowing this was unnatural for recent reasons, the singer decided to peek in, still respectful of the man's privacy reputation, finding that there was much more going on aside from depression.

The bassist wouldn't be able to survive without help; that was a fact. They were just going to have to get someone who would deal with Murdoc until they could cure this strange feeling of his. Or until he finally found a way to get it over with...

Shaking his head, 2D blinked, realizing the person on the phone had called his name three times to see if he was still there, Noodle eying him suspiciously. "Oh, uhm, yes, I'm still 'ere. Sorry for tha'." he replied quickly, offering an innocent cough to cover up his spacey thinking. How could he think of such a horrible answer, though it was true? No one would dare enter deep into the Winnebago without Murdoc's consent, and even entering it like he had to check up on him was a long shot, but how were they to keep him safe if he lived among weapons of human destruction? There was so much more to this aid than the agency knew...hopefully they would send someone just for Murdoc...

&&&

Dinner was strangely quiet that evening as the three band members ate their mashed potatoes, tofu, ribs, shrimp, vegetables, soup, and garlic bread, not a word shared as bits of food entered their mouths and were chewed till swallowed. Russel had dared to go down to the depths of the carpark to check on Murdoc who had been asleep at the time...a deep sleep of near unconsciousness due to lack of nutrition or water, but either way, the large drummer felt the man needed his rest and left him alone, knowing how incredibly nasty the bassist was known to be after being awoken. They were waiting for the next victim up to deal with their handicapped leader, almost afraid if this person wasn't good enough for him. It was ridiculous, really, worried about someone they didn't even know the name of yet, but look what Murdoc had done to 2D...who's to say he wouldn't do that or worse to an innocent stranger?

"...Shouldn't someone tell 'im?" the singer finally released, looking up at the others after dropping his cup, nearly spilling his cherry flavored soda. The taste reminded him of his medications, and it was a little help when he wanted them, teasing his taste buds with flavor instead of structure. The others merely glanced at him before returning to their silent dinner. Frowning darkly, the keyboardist strummed his fingers heavily against the folding table Russel had dug up from somewhere, usually used for parties and such. Buying a real table wasn't on the mind yet, all deciding if it was furniture or a weapon. It was rather uncomfortable using this cheap four-legged plastic, everyone's knees touching and intertwining (except Russel's since he couldn't fit his legs under), but since Murdoc's episode, they had no choice.

"I informed him when I went to talk with him." Noodle said very quietly, her expression allowing both of the men to figure out how she still felt about their little talk. She hadn't explained what had happened, only broke down between them, seeking comfort that fear had obviously taken over. She no longer used the man's name aloud, but referred to him as 'him' or 'he'. Almost as if she was afraid to damage what was left of her favored memories of the sadly deranged bassist. "But does 'e know...today...?" 2D continued softly, but this was never answered out loud. Two musical notes rang through the elder building, echoing within the hallways down to the carpark, forcing two weary eyes open, but only half lidded.

What were all these disruptions lately? Couldn't the world leave a famous person alone to deal with their own personal issues for once? No...that was unheard of. Never did the world let alone someone who they wished to know all about...when it didn't matter. How about when he was in school getting bullied every single day? When he was abused by his father's excessive drinking? Picked on and made a fool of to entertain his brother and his friends? No one in the world gave a damn. Not then. But now...now that he was an icon? His business was...universal. Shaking his head that felt like a thousand pounds with a broken nose, the bassist flopped his noggin over, facing the divider carelessly. He inhaled deeply and since no one had bothered to remove the filthy blanket from his grip, it still covered him, both in need of extreme washing.

His eyes lazily scanned the part of room he could see, his left hand giving his belly a gentle rub. He hadn't eaten in...He hadn't drank since...

He couldn't remember. All that seemed pointless now. Food had importance as did liquid...but in his state of mind, Murdoc couldn't find any point to it. He'd rather someone put it to use than to waste it on him. He wasn't going to eat it any time soon, and he'd be damned if anyone could get him out of that bed. Time wasn't depended on now, nor was socialization. Just sleep...hours and hours of sleep. That he could handle...Sleep...and planning. Sweet, silent, lonesome...planning.

He closed his eyes after almost five minutes of having them open, finding no need to have them viewing a world he'd rather not be in...Darkness engulfed him, wrapping him into a cold world of solitude. Where most people would be dreaming, which he had studied at some point was called REM, Murdoc was falling. Falling as if all the world's problems were now resting on his shoulders...no...dragging him by his ankles and wrists, the restraints burning his surrounding skin, forcing him to bleed endlessly. It was a never ending series of hell...loneliness...pain...frost...

"Wake up! Wake up!"

Eyes popping, the bassist's pupils zoomed three times before the lids capped them, taking a deep breath of relief, but it didn't last very long. Relief wasn't a usual feeling anymore. Colors swam into his word before his lids even reopened. That voice...where did it come from? Just as he opened his eyes, a blinding sunlight burst into his corneas, forcing him to groan angrily as he caved his eyes with the palms of his hands, "'ew the fuck!" The rays disappeared as soon as he voiced his opinion, a too-gentle-for-his-ears tune ringing in his ear, "I was almost about ready to call an ambulance; you had me too worried." Brows furrowing down, the bassist removed one hand, peeking at what life was throwing at him, but before he could, the bright light shimmed in his eyes once more, blinding him for the moment. "WOULD YEH GET THA' FUCKIN' TORCH OUTTA M' FACE?!" he bellowed, throat on fire from lack of saliva. The feeling was like that of razorblades sliding down his esophagus, splitting and dicing any and all inners.

The light snapped off a second time, this time, remaining off. Pressing hard against his closed eyes, the lightly tortured man dared to view whoever was doing this, spots clouding his vision before he could grasp an outline of this person. By the voice he could tell it was a woman...or a really determined homosexual, but positive the rest of the Gorillaz members wouldn't dare allow that to happen, he kept the idea of female in the back of his mind. Once the haze left him, he arched a brow, frown still placed upon his lips. The woman couldn't have been more than four five, a light autumn with blond highlights framing her face, yet each strand was perfectly even, unlike Noodle's which strayed from unevenness as possible. Her eyes glowed with a watery blue shine, giving off the appearance that this woman wanted to constantly cry, yet she was giving off a perky crooked grin, showing off her crooked teeth. She wore the plainest cream dress the bassist had ever seen a woman wear, but then again, most of the women he encountered were a bit slutty to say the least, so he couldn't give a proper judgment anyway.

She looked about in her early thirties, but the strange thing about this brave, young soul was that she dared to walk in the Winnebago barefoot. Her flat feet spread out like duck's toes, and Murdoc could swear if her toes would have been webbed, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Never in his history of living had he seen the oddest pair of feet, and he was counting his own in the bunch, too. "Hello, Mr. Nicalls. My name is Odessa Mar and-"

"Get out."

The thin woman strained her neck awkwardly, liquid blues staring at the man carefully, "Excuse me?"

"I said get out." he repeated, turning himself around on his bed as best he could. He closed his eyes, not hearing any steps retreating from his bed. Odessa glanced around timidly, eying all the male's personal belongings, knowing the negative feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn't going to let down soon. She knew the story of this front page front man, it was no secret he was rumored to have tried suicide though no one knew why. His band mates hadn't informed the agency anymore than they were required to, and the information gathered was based on his physical abilities, not mental stability. The rest was up to the aid assigned to the person whether the subject was going to open up to them or not, and by the looks of it, this man wasn't going to reveal anything personal for a long, long time.

"Uhm...sir. Its come to my attention that you may need some...help." she started, taking a step closer, "I can provide you clean clothing, bathing, transportation, evaluation, company, meals, and exercises that may one day have you up and out again." she explained with a smile, though she was smiling at his back more than anything. Realizing he was ignoring her, she sighed, patting his shoulder which only stiffened, "You're a fallen bird with a broken wing, but don't worry, that's what I'm here for." To this, Murdoc scrunched his nose with a problematic expression, wondering where loons like these were born. Not even alcohol induced sex dragged out babies into the world like these. Digging himself deeper into his bed, he groaned, snuggling within the warmth of the quilt he had, stained with the past. Odessa's eyes narrowed on the particular object once Murdoc pulled it over his shoulder, still facing his wall, yet finding comfort in his disturbing covering. Glancing into his bathroom, she stepped away quickly, afraid something unnatural was growing on the lid of the toilet and shakily reached for the quilt with her bare hand, fingers gently curling onto a patch that wasn't soiled with bodily fluids.

She lightly tugged once more, feeling restriction considering it was wrapped around the bassist snuggly, but as his eyes lifted open, he felt his teeth clench together, wondering what right this woman felt she had to take something of his. In a matter of seconds he sprung up like a don't wake daddy figure, glaring at the aid with the most grotesque of mugs he had ever mustered when undoubtedly pissed off. She yanked her hand back and cradled it, fearing the man might have actually had the guts to bite her or something of the sort, yet she was unharmed. Just reasonably frightened. "Back the _fuck_ up." he snorted, eyes glowing with an unholy ember until she finally stumbled a few feet backwards, hands folding within one another. The bassist growled at the woman before descending back into his own world, making sure that the quilt was secured tightly around him, coving his body up from toes to tip of his ear. Swallowing hard, the helping hand quietly and fearfully seated herself in one of the front seats. She had dealt with some tough people. She had even dealt with the mentally challenged, but this was a bit overboard. The man refused to part with a blood encrusted quilt. Something was wrong with this man...and now she was assigned to care for his life. Was the money really going to be worth the effort?

**&&&**

**Author's Note**: _Been a while, huh? Its been...weeks since I updated, but I was away in Florida the entire break so I had no chance to type anything when my laptop was still back at home. I did bring Rise of the Ogre with me on the plane to reread and get inspired for this. Hooray for a good story with big pictures:D Sorry for the wait, and please do review. Even if its a few words, it makes typing worth the while. _


	8. A Dullard's Recollections

**A Dullard's Recollections**

"Wot wos 'er name?"

"Odessa? I believe...?"

"Yeah. Odessa Mar."

The sky was ridiculously dark for the hour of morning, but when one lives in Kong, one is to expect such darkness at nine. Within the kitchen, the singer, drummer, and guitarist chatted lightly, not wanting to disturb any further darkness inside their home. "She looked nice." the pretty boy commented, tapping the bottom of his mug with his palm, glancing into his own reflection of hot chocolate. Licking his thumb to finger through the newspaper, Russel shrugged, "I'm not sure Muds is exactly up to women right now, D." Rereading the woman's papers, the young teen scanned her recommendations. Everything was perfect on her record. Not one complaint about her. She had multiple experiences with a variety of patients and seemed to put the helpless before herself. Surely, she would be the one to cure this aura that had been strangling Murdoc since that night.

Taking a sip, the bluehead glanced out the scummy window, giving his top lip a quick lick, "I meant sincere." Emerald orbs lifting, the Jap tilted her head, relieved, "That is good. I believe that is what Murdoc truly yearns for in his time of need." The tall man nodded slowly, expression of lost secrecy still lingering along his mug. The drummer was the first to notice before the teen could say more. There was something about the young man that was more off than usual, and this time, it wasn't pills that was throwing him. "What's up, man?" he asked, placing his paper down to get a full view. Dejected mask finally disowned, the keyboardist arched a curious brow, full of thoughts he'd rather not share, "Hm?"

"Somethin's up wit you. I don't know what it is...but when somethin's buggin' you...I can see it. Not that easy to, but, we eventually catch on." the big boned drummer noted, crossing his arms on his large chest. He resembled something of an alpha male, a nerving idea to the scrawny singer. Their beloved _bassist_ had been the leader..._was_ the leader..._is_ the leader. Thought of a new head of household was gut churning to begin with. "I'm fine." he hinted, waving his free hand as he covered his face with the large cup.

"You are not." Noodle contradicted with a figuring pout, "You have been acting strangely...and now that Russel has brought it up, I wish to know, too."

"I 'ave not been acting strangely. You lot are jus' experiencin'...er...mornin' blindness." the man nodded, rubbing his nose. He had heard about the phrase on a morning show once when driving to pick up some milk one weekend. Something about the sun's version of the moon playing tricks on one's eyes. His theory didn't seem to be working with his band mates, however. Russel kept on his drilling stare while Noodle merely haunted him with her silence, her soft, gentle breaths screaming in his mind. He avoided her eyes as long he could, glancing at anything around him like a frightened squirrel, darting...darting...until he could no longer take it. Dark holes of abyss greeting nature's glass gems, a transfer of question in silence.

"_What happened that night...?_" the teen begged, dying to know since they received that call.

"_...Wish I could've forgotten it by now..._" the indents answered, shape changing every so often with his lid resting lower than the other.

For a moment, the man opened his mouth, revealing his cramped teeth and enormous spaced gap, giving the young woman hope in revelation, yet, catching himself, he shut it tight, craning his neck to the window, waiting for the rain to come. Lowering her head into a propped up weight, Noodle sighed sadly, wishing to know so much more while the singer wished to know so much less. In all reality, he didn't know much. Only what he saw. But it was enough. Enough to scare him into silence. Enough to worry that this woman wasn't good enough...and the _knowledge_ to know she wasn't good enough to deal with this kind of depression. It was more than mind boggling. It was...suicidal. Twisting his mouth gently, he ruffled his cerulean locks, eyes to the clouds above while droplets of water fell to the world below.

&&&

It was silent inside the Winnebago as Murdoc slept soundly, not even a snore escaping the troubled man. Breaths were quick and shallow, similar to a rodent's habitual pattern, but rats and mice had reason to breathe so rapidly. They owned fragile hearts the size of one's pinky nail, needing to pump blood quickly into their small sized bodies per second, however, the bassist of the popular band did not own such a muscle. Well, he did own a heart, but not that small...or healthy for that matter. But it wasn't the need of deep breathing that forced the man to breathe so shallowly. It was the pains of his stomach. Not of hunger, and not of illness, but of indescribable emptiness. The space within his belly had shrunk to the size of his fist and his body was beginning to burn his body fat in order to survive. There were many things the band leader was able to fool. His fans, band members, and even his own mind were such prey susceptible to his tricky ways, but there was one thing he could not fool, and it was only until recently that he figured it out. The human body could not be lied to. When ignored, it understood that measures would need to be taken in order to survive, and if it meant undergoing a small amount (or large amount) of pain in order to do so, so be it.

Odessa Mar was also one of the special few who could not be fooled by Murdoc's facade, not that he could hide much now. The moment she laid eyes on him, she understood the seriousness of her job. Not that she didn't take her other patients seriously, but this man needed more than just help. Her specialty was either to assist physically or mentally, but not both at the same time. Murdoc was one of those cases. At about nine thirty in the morning, a scrape of metal stabbed the moptop's eardrum, but he ignored it as he did with every other noise that didn't concern him. It had woken him, but he was damned if he was going to admit that, eyelids still capped over his eyeballs. He would simply fall back asleep. It was that easy...or was it...?

Suddenly, the bago tilted somewhat the the left, forcing the entire bed to shift slightly, Murdoc's feet angling downward as the headboard rose up. The bassist's brows furrowed in fazed confusion, unable to figure whether it was from reality or his fogged mind. A sharp clank answered him, though he remained motionless, exhausted from life itself. After five seconds of squeaky wheels trying to squeal against hard rubber, the man was forced to fully awaken, eyelids extremely heavy, trying to fight against gravity. "Mr. Nicalls?" The voice was drowned, as if he had been dunked into a pool of never ending darkness, fading his thoughts from feelings, feelings from life, and life from death. "Mr. Nicalls?" There it was again. He was awake, but he wasn't. Alive...but barely. Famous...yet unknown.

A chilly palm took the curve of the male's filthy face, fingers carefully stroking for a moment before evolving into gentle slaps, trying to knock him back into consciousness. "Mr. Nicalls!" His eyes took an eternity to open, brows thickening in anger. Who did this woman think she was, touching him, talking to him...bothering? In seconds her wrist was caged in a bar of bony, dirty fingers, his unkempt nails locking her arm from any freedom.

"Wot the 'ell do yeh want?"

It was really the most he had said to her in an entire sentence worth. Slightly fearful of the man in his current state, Odessa tugged at her arm, her own expression stating the obvious. She was afraid, and Murdoc could smell fear miles away. Its what he fed off from. Just by shifting her watery blues, she had given herself away. Actually, she reminded him a bit of a rabbit getting caught by a wolf. Squeezing the stranger's arm threateningly, the thin woman shivered with a squeak, unable to remove her stare with the two discolored eyes. She could feel her life being sucked away from her, claws of some unnatural unholiness tearing at her soul. Was this darkness overpowering the older man?

"Didn't I tell yeh teh get out yesterday?" he questioned gruffly, nearly snapping her arm off as he yanked her wrist down, forcing the fearful woman to get a great view of his pale, green teeth. Eyes narrowing, the bassist realized something horrible. This woman...like his band mates...she had too much _hope_. Though in her terrified gape, she still resembled some form of salvation...something he wanted nothing of. Releasing her wrist, he lifted his same hand, giving her face a brutal shove and turned over, tiredly glancing at his posters. On the other side of this battle, the aid stood aghast, holding her nose and cheeks, wanting to be in basic denial of the whole few moments previous. This man didn't actually _backhand_ her, did he? Slowly her arms wrapped around her small frame, unable to blink. She sniffed lightly, gently rubbing her, now, tender nose, shaking her head. Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous. "Mr-"

"GET OUT!"

&&&

Sitting up from the lavender sheets spread along the mattress, the young man turned his head towards the door, eyes widened from the volume recently coming from the quarters of the Winnebago. He knew it. He just knew it. It hadn't been more than five minutes and the bassist was blasting fireballs. Rubbing his eyes with his left, the band singer curled his other leg in, tapping his knee lightly. He had been thinking. As strange as many people might think that phrase strange, yes...he _had_ been thinking. About everything. It was a hard puzzle to figure out by himself. Pre-call, Murdoc had been fine...it was just after practice, after Russel had used the phone for a pizza delivery, after Noodle begged him to play some new video came with her as the singer watched, enjoying the time they spent together as almost normal people...and then the phone rang...the pizza came...it rang again...Noodle disappeared into the bathroom...the phone rang...Russel opened the box...the steam smoked out...it rang a forth time...the keyboardist answered.

"'_ello, Kong Studios. An' if yo' sellin' somethin' we don't want it._"

The voice against his had been so soft and fragile...kind of like Murdoc's current state. He could hear others chatting in the background...but far away, in a different room perhaps. It could be told that this woman was in private. A weary sigh escaped her before any answer was given to the slow man's greeting, a clear of throat, then, "_...May I speak wit Murdoc?_"

His brow had caved in, squinting one eye as the other popped a bit, "_Can I tell 'im 'ew it is? 'e won't answer if I don't give a name._" While saying all this, Murdoc had been scanning through channels, cursing the programs he hated and slurring those that bored him. Then, the strangest reply he had ever heard wavered through his ears, "_Tell 'im...that the ravens cloak the reaper._"

Both brows had furrowed nearly together, the singer having pulled the receiver from his ear in order to stare at it strangely as if it were going to stare back. What kind of message was that to tell Murdoc? It almost seemed code-like...

"_Uhm...Murdoc?_"

"_Wot?_"

"_Yeh got a call from some lady..._"

"_Not now, dullard._"

"_She...she said...tha' the ravens cloak the reaper...?_"

The bassist's reaction had somewhat changed from relaxed to interested, stretching out his fingers for the phone. Trading it with the remote, he disappeared down the hallway and down into the carpark, leaving the singer to watch curiously, remote hanging from his hand while ignoring the guitarist's request for him to eat some dinner. He offered her an honest smile, nodding twice for her to hold his slice before quietly heading after the bassist. The teen often worried for his health, he being much thinner than she. It was obviously unhealthy for his body, but he couldn't help it. He wouldn't force himself to eat if he wasn't hungry. He didn't care for the idea of eating much anyway, unlike Russel who lived for food. It was part of the reason why he became a vegetarian. Less heavy food, and of course, guilt was weighted on him. He had been thin all his life...he couldn't possibly imagine himself with a few extra pounds. Either way, the singer carefully and casually strolled down the same path as the bassist, curling his long fingers against the edge of the doorway with a curious expression.

It wasn't so much of Murdoc getting the phone call...but...it was some gut feeling that the young man had felt churning in his tiny belly, begging him to be the cat that curiosity always got in the end. A quick slam assured him that Murdoc had decided to lock himself within the depths of the Winnebago, playing it safe against any nosy bodies who felt like following him. Twisting himself into the stairwell, the bluehead gently closed the door and made his way down the steps, creeping to the back of the Winnie where Murdoc kept posters against his windows. God forbid he had the urge to go for a drive and back up, the singer would be smeared across the pavement, but the automobile was merely bouncing lightly, evidence of normal pace.

"_Wot am I doin'?_" the keyboardist asked himself after a few minutes, realizing he was sitting against the bago just waiting for something to happen. What it really any of his right to try and butt into other people's business? For all he knew it could've been a girl that Murdoc favored and instructed some silly phrase in order to identify her. It could've been a friend...no, that didn't make sense. Murdoc didn't have lady friends that he took seriously...that he knew of. Feeling a bit foolish and embarrassed for worrying over nothing (though he felt it was his duty as the leader's best mate), 2D dusted himself off and casually walked towards his door as if that was his main purpose the entire time when the voice of the Winnie suddenly rose its volume.

Glancing over his shoulder with his hand curled around his doorknob, the singer mentally fought with himself. Where could he be to listen in aside from his room? He turned and leaned on his back, having a gut sense that this was a bad idea since he was in plain view, but Cortez was screeching inside, slamming against the driver's glass every other second. This strange behavior worried the elevated man, afraid to near the mobile home, but at the same time enticing his curiosity.

"_'ey were both bastards teh yeh an' all yeh can care about are the people 'ew screwed yeh over! Wot 'appened teh me! Wot about me!_" the bassist's voice suddenly hissed, his shadow passing by the Winnie's door. Apparently he was charging back and forth without delay. Sliding down against his own door, 2D rested on his backside, arms wrapped around his knees with his face buried between the two. What exactly was Murdoc going on about? Never in his life did he ever give off the assumption that he needed to be realized by someone. He hardly acted to impress, except when it came to anything sexual. A muffled clatter of what sounded like broken china cracked through the air, spooking the bluehead, his mind telling him to get the hell out of there because Murdoc was getting violent, but his heart nailing him to his place, reminding him that no matter what, Murdoc was his friend and would probably (but unwillingly) need him at some point. However, this little self pep talk was shaken out of him when the bassist's darkened roar swept deep into his bones, "_MY FUCKIN' NAME IS MURDOC! GET THA' THROUGH YO' THICK, FOGGED, FUCKED UP-...wot the fuck wos tha'? ...'ello?...'ello?...'ELLO! ANSWER ME! I KNOW YEH CAN 'EAR ME! SAY SOMETHIN'!...ANYTHIN'!...ANSWER! 'ELLO!_"

The thin male's already large eyes widened as the dark man's yells became more and more desperate. His heart was knocking against his chest, his knees popping in place and his hand fumbling for the knob. Before the singer could get his door open the Winnie's metal flap slammed open, a boot clad foot swinging in the air for a moment before the rest of the bassist's body joined him, the phone still attached to his ear. The bluehead's brows arched forward, his mentality begging whatever force that controlled his life to have mercy on him, but Murdoc seemed to pay him no mind. He was too occupied screaming into a phone that gave him no answer. "_I'm comin' over right now! 'ello? Christ, answer me!_" he growled, eyes passing over the living skeleton but his lost of focus blurred him from sight. "_ANSWER ME!_" he exploded, snorting dangerously as he watched the phone burst into pieces from the force used to throw it against the pavement.

"_Fine, fine...quick drive...pick up some peppermints...she likes 'ose...an' yellow flowers...tulips...purple paper..._" he muttered in a random chant, circling around the phone as if it were alive. He nodded to himself a couple of more times before breaking into a odd grin, eying the Geep ever so dependently...

A knock at the door broke 2D from his memory, his body shivering like it had that night. Murdoc had lost his mind that night...but it wasn't the useless list he had reminded himself or the savage yelling that had thrown the singer over, although it had nerved him quite shitless. It was what he had said right before turning on the Geep and speeding away faster than he had ever before...

Another knock vibrated through the singer's head, forcing him to groan and wince. Migraines were not a blessing, but he had not taken his medication for the day. In fact, he hadn't thought about the capsules at all. It was amazing what a relevant broken life could do so someone. Nearly break their addiction... "I'm comin'...Comin'..." he sighed, giving his braced arm a helping lift with the free one, using it to turn the knob. He was surprised to find the axe princess there of all people, actually expecting it to be Odessa asking for some form of help (though the question would have been ludicrous), but it was Noodle, doing her best to keep from eying the Winnebago. The only sound that would escape him at the moment was a soft, "Oh," but it wouldn't stop Noodle from entering without a word. Silently she sat on his previously rested bed, eyes focused on her knot of a hand rather than anything or anyone else. Gently closing the door, he arched a brow when Noodle squeaked a, "Not all the way."

He left it but a crack open and joined her side, cradling her closely as he closed his eyes with tight understanding, her small hands filled with fistfuls of his shirt, "His voice...It is the only hope I have left..."

&&&

Within the Winnie, the metal chair on wheels had been left aside, now flattened so those who had the ability to walk could and those who didn't to lie in silence and whither away. Why didn't everyone just leave him alone? He didn't ask for any attention at this time. He didn't order the others to satisfy his absolute needs. He could have worked them to the bone (and for the dullard, to dust), but he didn't. He, instead, desired to sleep on his filthy bed all day and show that living wasn't something to be envied for. It was painful enough knowing his heart was beating at some form of pace when someone else's was not.

His world of darkness was violated once again for the second time that day, but not by a timid young bird, but by a mountainous frosty eyed behemoth, his large frame giving himself shadow aside from the eyes. A meaty hand stretched over the bassist's shoulder (or where he assumed was a shoulder under the mass of slaughtered blanket) and nudged the body, receiving no reply. "I know yo' awake. I also know yo' gunna take a shower, get somethin' to eat, and get outta this fuckin' car can." Murdoc didn't need this. It was far from what he needed. Snuggling himself deeper into his cave of dormancy, the bassist ignored any and all threats made by his drummer, someone who would be considered a dangerous madman if it weren't for his position as soul drummer in Gorillaz. He gave him a home, a title, a never ending celebrity life and this is how he was thanking him. With threats. True, the bassist and drummer had never been chummy, but then again, the number was very low on who Murdoc _cared_ to socialize with. The only real creature who he spent countless hours with was his beloved pet raven who was probably hatching a plan to peck out his inners and toss them to the zombies now that he had ignored it for some time.

He hoped one day that the winged angel of darkness would forgive him for the neglectful treatment; the bird was beyond the intellect of any animal he knew. He even put Noodle's monkey to shame and Mike was toilet trained. The dark musician only hoped the raven would understand the situation his master was suffering through. He, after all, had witnessed everything up until Murdoc hopped in the Geep and took off. "God this is disgustin'..." he heard the large man grunt, eyes popping open in anger when he was suddenly flipped and yanked out of the blanket he had learned to call home. Russel quickly threw it on the floor, away from the mess Murdoc had made with his drawer, and found himself wrestling the bassist once it was out of his grip, "GIVE IT BACK, YEH FAT FUCK!" he hissed, throwing a hard punch towards the drummer's face, but Russel caught it in time.

In the back of Russel's mind, a small voice begged him to take pity on the man before him. The normally edge fisted jab had been cut down to five times less than effective. Still, Murdoc did his best to bring across his infuriation, arms flailing and even teeth snapping with every other movement, wanting nothing more than the large mammoth before him to disappear. Behind the protecting shield of human mass was Odessa, hands capping her mouth while her eyes enlarged in fear, mind trying to puzzle together how she was going to care for this man's health when she would be too busy worrying about her own safety. It was best she stay quiet during this confrontation. "LARDS! I SAID GIVE IT TO ME!" he screamed, the oder discharging from his mouth gagging the drummer to no limit. Russel coughed for clean air, something he wasn't about to receive within the Winnebago, and slammed his hand over the bassist's mouth, muffling everything else the man had to say. Using about the oldest trick in the book, Murdoc dropped all his dignity and allowed his snakelike tongue to slide across the American's palm, his mouth free when Russel pulled away in disgust.

Glaring at the broken man, the dark skinned male forced himself to swallow the pity he had, knowing he couldn't bring himself to show any kindness before Murdoc. The bassist would take advantage of it and Russel would be back where he started. Before he could change his mind, the drummer's large hand stretched out and smashed the aging leader across the face, forcing his head to hang from aftershock. Murdoc had been stunned into silence. Shaking his head, the drummer ignored the thoughts of "_What have I done?_" and "_It's for the best,_" using actions instead of words. Now engaging the most gentle touch he had ever performed towards Murdoc, he carefully straightened out the man's seated position and lifted each arm, pulling out his arms from the sleeves, noticing how rather thin they were. Discarding the gray shirt, Russel signaled for the setting of the wheelchair. Odessa snapped it into position and watched as Russel plopped the bassist on like a ragdoll.

Together they maneuvered the metal chair out of the Winnie, the New Yorker lifting a tired finger towards the lift, "Just...give him a shower first. Please." he sighed, no longer facing them, "If...he gives you any trouble...let me know." As soon as she slowly nodded, he made himself scarce, leaving her behind with the handicapped artist. For a moment, she truly wanted to share some words of encouragement, just to see if it would perk him up, but she then remembered that one, this man was not to be "perked", and two, he had just been highly disrespected by a fellow band mate. No amount of words she could offer would ever make up for that. Silently she walked behind the chair while her arms pushed it forward, a frightening sense of knowledge haunting her as she pressed her finger against the lift's round button. Her hands unsteadily gripped onto the bars of the wheelchair, the man in it as mute as death. She had a premonition that something was going to happen. Obviously something bad, but...she couldn't describe it. The vibes this man gave off were dangerous...and she wasn't so sure she wanted to be around something so devastatingly...wrathful. Her watery blues blinked and focused upwards, the strange ring (and her flip flopped thoughts) finally coming to an end when the two doors opened.

**&&&**

**Author's Note:** _Okay, okay. Go ahead and throw rotten food at me, its been a while since I updated. However, I got The Nightmare Before Christmas on DVD (my inner child is screaming with glee), and its finals and regents week. Hooray, (note the sarcasm). Tomorrow is going to be hell with double regents (math and spanish) and I won't get out until 3:15 and I start 15 minutes earlier to start off with. Yay for a half hour extra of school time. Life hates me. Anyways, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone with the chapter, I'll reread it after I post it so I can know what the hell I was thinking weeks ago when I was half done with it. XD I also plan to continue non-stop with this fic instead of starting new ones that I'll post up much later. That way everyone's happy. You've read this far, please let me know how I'm doing. _


	9. Bark Worse Than Bite?

**Bark Worse Than Bite?**

Small squares of shadowed light snuck into the small slits of open metal, running up the bodies of the two occupants within the lift. The box's grinding clanks thudded with each passing floor, a faint melody playing through the noise on the first floor, but it quickly faded. Just like everything in Murdoc's life, it never stuck around quite long enough for him to enjoy it. But at the moment, he wasn't enjoying anything. He had been, not punched, not kicked, not even another broken nose...he would do anything for another broken nose if it meant removing the sting on his cheek. It was just too degrading. His multicolored eyes lingered on his lap, lost in thought that seemed to be lost in itself. How he wished he were someone else...without memory of who he had been in the past. It was what he loathed the most.

He could feel the woman's gentle finger taps against the handlebars, her way of passing the time as the elevator took its time to reach its destinate course. It annoyed him to death. He could just lift himself and crack her across the face for it...if only he had been motivated to do so. Slowly he blinked, his hair pricking his eyes, but he didn't shift his head to stop the pain or blow the strands from his face. He mentally asked for a heart attack, a ruptured organ...failed liver...the elevator to collapse with them in it. The last was most likely of them all, but nothing happened. Even his home had failed him. Eyes widening, he felt his red one twitch in irritation as the thin, aqua eyed nurse rested her hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair down to his neck, "Perhaps a nice bath will bring everything to normal. Do you like custard cakes? I'll make you some. They always bring a smile to my husband when he's in a foul mood."

Husband? So she was married...For the first time in Murdoc's life (since the accident), he almost had the urge to divulge into one of his famously devilish grins. Almost.

"Its Dare!"

The wheelchair clicked and jerked as she pushed the contraption through the unleveled floor, forcing the bassist to pop in his seat. He grumbled, but she noticed nothing, eying the stained walls of Kong Studios' halls. "You people certainly have a unique taste...not saying that the rock life style is automatically...uhm...a stranger living...but different. Very different..." she criticized in her honesty, almost shivering with each forward step. Eyes narrowing, the dark overcome depressed artist froze in his seat, breath halting. Simple quiet steps passed them, pausing a moment for the creator to wave at the aid and offer Murdoc a pitied glance, then continued on their way until Odessa opened her mouth. "Uhm, Mr. Pot? Could you tell me where the bathroom is?"

Brows capping the top of his fractures, 2D angled his head, lifting the very thin uncaged arm, having the woman rethink who she was dealing with, man or death. "S'dat way. Yeh shouldn't miss it...it says toilet on the door..." he answered, pointing down the hallway, his arm falling limp at his side. The light brown haired woman smiled cheerfully, pushing the bassist with a jolt, "Does it? That's nifty! Especially for guests!" she nodded on her way. Ringing his wrist with his right hand, the singer shrugged forcibly, not in the greatest mood to talk with her. Not when he was worried about the man she was caring for. "I s'pose. Don't get many guests, though...an' call me 2D."

"Will do." the short woman replied, looking over her shoulder, but he was gone. The inhabitants of this household were the strangest. Here one moment and there the next. Wherever there was. Deeper into the darkness she traveled with the disabled male, her watery blues rocking back and forth until they locked on a pale painted door, "toilet" printed neatly in scarlet peel off lettering. Leaving Murdoc for a moment to turn the knob on the door and peek in, Odessa snapped on the light switch, heart at a stop when a blood skinned creature hissed at her, flicking its pointed tail left and right. What got her was the blue stripped bow tie the monster was wearing around his neck, but aside from that, its boiling ruby eyes and grimy, sharp, snapping teeth threw up the scream in her.

Her feet stumbled back as it took a step towards the door with its fingers twitching anxiously, a look of disturbed curiosity lingering within its expression. She tripped, falling back on Murdoc's lap and pushing them both into the wall right across from the bathroom. "ITS COMING! WH-WHAT IS THAT THING?" Odessa screeched, further pushing herself back into Murdoc, who, at the moment, was losing all sense of oxygen to his brain. Biting down on his tongue, the bassist pushed her to the floor, but hissed at the monster in some foreign language (possibly Greek or Latin), obviously scaring it off for the time being. Getting to her knees, the frazzled young woman stared down the hall where the creature had scurried off, slowly looking up at the bassist whose expression was as unphased as someone who had just swatted a fly.

She used one of the wheelchair's wheels to bring herself to her feet, a little wobbly, but off her knees, nonetheless. Patting the wrinkles off her long lime green skirt, Odessa swallowed thickly, almost choking in the process. "D-Do you get those things often?" she stuttered, poking the bathroom door open with her finger, afraid any more of those things would jump out at her. It swung open with a creak, but revealed the basic Gorillaz washroom: four stalls, four sinks, and behind the wall that separated the stalls from the back half of the room, two mini rooms with a shower stall and tub in each, no further creepy crawlers to scare the life from her. Meekly rolling Nicalls in, Odessa closed the door and locked it, more from fear than privacy. She didn't want to run into anything else while working.

"All right," she whispered, her large eyes scanning the room, "Just give me a minute to...find everything..." Quietly, Murdoc kept his eyes on his knees, running his tongue over his teeth. A certain song was running through his mind. It had hit him so suddenly, he wasn't sure what to make of it. It was the song he had heard while in the lift, passing up through the floors. He wasn't unsure of who was listening to it. He knew it was Noodle. Pounding music so loud...able to wake the dead. Maybe to drown out the pain. Maybe to ignore everyone who tried to tell her it would be okay. Maybe to forget him. It was almost scary how similar they acted...reacted...and dealt with their problems. One could almost say they were related.

..._It's taken me far to long_

_Don't think I'm all in this world_

_Don't think I'll be here too long_...

"Mr. Nicalls, I'm going to show you how to use the shower bench and how easily you can slip from your seat to the next without any fuss."

The woman's voice pierced through his thoughts, his fangs bared, but she paid no mind. He was led into one of the shower rooms, face to face with the glass door stall and a large plastic, metal, rubber seat with two handle bars and holes on the flat bottom. Turning to him with a smile, Odessa clapped her hands together nervously, "So. All you need are your arms for this. You know, in case I'm not around and you need a quick bathe or something." She had no idea why she was telling him information like this. The man had slept with a blood soiled blanket for days straight. Her conscience was pulling at her gut, the small voice nagging her to quickly explain the necessities; the faster she did everything, the faster she would be home. Wasting her breath, more like, but it was part of the job. God forbid he actually _tried_ climbing in and fell, he could sue both her agency and her personally. Not that he needed the money, but in his condition and with his current attitude, she wasn't going to take any chances.

Pulling the wheelchair (and him) right against the door, she opened the stall and used her hands as pointer tools, "You grab this bar and pull yourself up into the seat. Its specifically designed for handicapped victims and made low to the floor in case you drop the soap or something along those lines. The holes are no use for you, just for the water to pass through. Easier to keep clean." she smiled, extending her arm, "Would you like to try it on your own?" Silence was the given answer with Murdoc's bored and uncaring expression, a mix between, "_Get the fuck outta my 'ouse._" and "_I ain't doin' shit._" Scraping against her bottom lip with her front teeth, the aid rubbed her cheek, finally understanding his body language. "Okay then." she whispered gently, storing the shampoo and conditioner in the shower seat holsters.

Of course Murdoc hadn't listened to a word the woman had offered. There were much better things to think about. Like how to get rid of her. Honestly, he wasn't in a revengeful mood. No, by now she would have been long gone. But he didn't want strangers interfering with his life. He just wanted to be left the fuck alone and wonder why fate hadn't ended his state of being already. And his blanket. He wanted his blanket. It gave him an awkward sense of pathetic comfort in his own self mourning that nothing else could. It eased him into unconsciousness...kept him from the world and its lingerers...guided him into plan. When he actually realized he was practically falling off his seat, he wasn't sure, but he did notice his belt had been unbuckled and his jeans were halfway off with Odessa yanking the pant leg on each side, doing her best to rip off the second skin Murdoc seemed to have melted into.

It was...bizarre for him, to say the least, watching someone undress him without even the slightest interest, peeling off his underwear with no reaction...no expression...nothing. Tossing them to the side, Odessa positioned the wheelchair directly adjacent to the shower seat, sliding her arms between his in order to somehow lift him up. His voice was gone, but his mind was running. He didn't need words to make this work. It was just perfect timing. Quickly enough, he rung his arms around her, holding her tight. It didn't take a genius to know that gravity would pull them both down into the chair. Odessa landed on top of him, trying to lift herself free from his iron grip, "Mr. Nicalls! I don't know what you think you're doing, but its not helping or appropriate in the least bit!" she breathed, fixing herself with scarlet cheeks. His face was as blank as paper, but she knew better. He had done that on purpose. Perhaps to get some kick out of being nude with a woman, but she would have none of that.

Murdoc eyed her darkly as she did her best to lift him out of the wheelchair and transfer him without hurting him. The hardest part was lifting him without tripping on his legs. That was something neither of them could control, just manipulate. Adjusting him to a more comfortable position, Odessa drew a deep breath. Murdoc Nicalls was no light feather, and she, herself, wasn't of any muscular build, but she had made it through (with a pulled spine). Pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, the small aid sighed, "You can call me when you're done, or just turn off the water. I'll be sitting right next to the tub." This decision was changed, however, by Murdoc reaching out and slamming the shower door shut, vibrating the wobbly glass caging them in, and crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. Blue crystals hovering on the handle, they slowly traveled to the Brit's temperamental mug, annoyance filling within her own, "Mr. Nicalls, you are perfectly capable of washing your own body. That requires your arms and hands which you have proved work perfectly." the woman scolded, receiving a lifted middle finger in reply. The brunette pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking over her reason of accepting this job. She couldn't find any besides the fact of helping people from the good of her heart. Closing her eyes, Odessa mumbled a few words of self encouragement, but they were soon cut off by her scream.

&&&

The emeralds of the young Jap's flickered up, followed by her head from her comic reading. It was something she hadn't done in a long time, and catching up on it seemed a good way to wash away the thoughts of the present. She had almost gotten away with it until the scream woke her from her fantasy world where problems lasted only so long and emotional expression was so much easier to read. The book dropped from her hands as she lifted herself from her belly to her feet, running into Russel whose expression was anything but happy. They shared a look for a moment, but the hefty drummer broke it off, running towards the source of the scream. It wasn't hard for her to follow the large man up the stairs and down the hall, but it wasn't possible for her to pass him unless she wanted to get impaled with his pumping fists or swaying body. Once Noodle caught up, she found the worried American banging his fist against the bathroom door. Apparently it was locked.

Bang once.

Bang twice.

Bang thrice.

Shaking his head with a dark frown, Russel barged his large shoulder against the barrier, unhinging it with one go. The door was so old and rusted it was like flicking a domino. The two of them ran to the back of the bathroom, both shower rooms closed. "Odessa?" the drummer called, knocking on both, but a thud from behind the first door answered his question. Rolling his eyes, Russel backed up, about to ram into the door like the other, but before he could, Noodle's foot snapped the doorknob clean off the door, allowing it to swing freely. Running in first, the dark skinned male cringed with a surprised gasp, lost at an attempt of words. It was obvious of what had happened, but what pulled at his curiosity was how mediative Murdoc was acting: eyes closed, millions of water droplets massaging his body and soaking his hair, but no movement on his behalf.

The young teen stepped in beside him, eyes widening at both the sight of Murdoc, but more at the drenched Odessa, dripping on the floor with a glare at the silenced man, make-up smeared down her cheeks, hair a matted mess, and clothes pulling on her, her white blouse already a see-through attraction. Teeth gritted, the autumn haired woman clenched her fists and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "...I'll be in the kitchen. Baking." she managed to cough out, shooting one last glower at the bassist. "Excuse me, 2D." A thin, large knuckled hand capped over Noodle's eyes, and at the same time, moved her to the side with a gentle bodied push, keeping her vision clear of a naked Murdoc. It just wasn't right for her to see him that way. It wasn't right for any of them to see him this way, but inappropriate for Noodle. He turned her body around, facing the open door and confirmed her sight with a light whisper, "Get 'er a towel or somefink."

The guitarist left without a word. There was nothing she could think of saying. Not even to Odessa. The singer softly glanced back at Russel, watching him boil with anger, frustration, but most of all, failure. He didn't know how to help his friend, and it was killing him inside. The hiphop hardman had lost one friend too many in the past...he wouldn't lose this one. Not when he could control the disaster before it happened. It was by miracle of God that the bassist survived the hideous crash with only detached nerve endings as his wound (although Murdoc would cringe at the idea). Russel believed in a God as well as Murdoc did. He _had_ to in order to believe in a devil, right? There cannot be good without bad and bad without good. The world didn't work that way. But which ever way the belief was held, the drummer truly trusted that there was some form of angel watching over the poor man before him, lost in open eyed unconsciousness, but Murdoc was pulling away, quickly and desperately.

They, his friends, were the man's last resort. And if they couldn't help...their famous dark haired friend was going to disappear before their eyes. A thin hand rested upon the dark skinned percussionist, hollow hound optics howling in pain without sound, crying without tears. Allowing his large hand to rest for a moment on the singer's, he patted it twice before starting his stride, the bony digits withering away behind him. Russel pushed on the shower's handle, but the door knocked against the chair, a small thud echoing above the water's rush. He couldn't answer how...or when...but definitely why. Murdoc had jammed the door...to be alone. A world without people...a land without disappointment...a place of solitude. It unlocked a certain rage deep within the drummer that he never knew, only realizing how hard a first punch could be when infuriation overtook his actions. Rippling from his fist was a spiderweb of cracks, spreading all the way to the left corner of the glass wall, not fully broken, but with a flick of the finger, Murdoc would be showering with both water and glass shards. Time seemed to slow as the once pelvic thrusting bass shagger lifted his lids, focused on the shower head.

He paid no mind to Russel. The drummer even wondered if he had heard the fisted crack, arm suspended in air, but 2D slammed his body into him before he could further damage anything. Hard enough to shift his footing, but not enough to hurt him, "RUSSEL, DON'T!" he screamed, his voice nearly enough to shatter the fragile material. Staring at his knuckles in awe, the American cradled his swelling hand, able to locate his heartbeat along his clenched fist. Where had that come from? All that force? All that pain? Anguish? Disgust? He knew he didn't hate Murdoc...though at times it could be doubted, but through it all...they were allies...companions...band mates. What happened?

"You'll 'urt 'im..."

"...I hafta get him out..."

"I can 'elp."

"...Not with that arm."

&&&

Flour. _Slam!_

Sugar. _Slam!_

Milk. _Slam!_

Custard...Silence.

Odessa fumbled around, yanking out dishes here and there, finding anything and everything but custard. Even another little demon, but she was feeling a bit demonic herself and merely glared at the creature until it ran off, slightly disappointed that it hadn't scared her. Between each cabinet she rung her clothes, creating wrinkles and creases, but there was nothing more she could do. She couldn't just walk out on the job, but she had no spare clothing to change into. A light tap on her shoulder forced her to spin around, lips pursed tightly, but she eventually calmed her nerves when she saw that it was Noodle, and no one else. A large towel was lifted towards her face, and her fingers snatched it before the light purple material met with her nose. The Japanese girl was quite short for her age, but it was nothing she could control. While Odessa dried her hair off by the balcony door, the axe princess eyed the counter curiously. So, she had been serious when she announced her baking duty. Strange for someone to take out their anger on cooking.

Pulling out a chair to sit in, Noodle curled her legs in to her chest, ringing her arms around her knees to watch the aid at work. She hung the towel on the outside rail to dry and began. Her hair was a tousled mess, her clothing still moist, but no longer dripping. Not respectable, but reasonable. Make do with what she had. Time passed as Noodle watched her create cake mix from scratch, then pause to glance at her. "Would you happen to know if you have any custard?" the woman asked, spinning the ingredients within the bowl. "I am not sure...I do not think we do. We may have chocolate pudding, though." the violet haired teen suggested, receiving a nod to go a retrieve some.

Little cups were filled with cake mix, allowed to bake for a few minutes, then filled with pudding in the center, allowed to bake for the continuing thirty minutes for a warm and moist pastry snack. Noodle took an interest in this technique, offering to help clean and make room on the counter for them to cool off when the time came. "Thank you." the brunette responded out on the deck. The Kong air was chilled, but there was some rays coming from the sunset miles away. Colors filled the dump's dreary edge, warding off the zombies, truth be told. Her fingers ran along the splintered wood with a soft sigh, "You are such a sweet young girl..." Odessa whispered, leaning against her crossed arms, "You portray...the essence of fun. The person in the room who livens things up...and when they're gone...boredom kicks back in."

Crossing her arms before her as well, Noodle rested her head in the crook of her elbow, eyes gazing off, "I thank you for your compliments...but that is not me." The woman's sky blues rafted to Noodle, a swift wind picking up, gently freezing her. The Japanese teenager pouted and blew up through her bangs, dazzling emeralds shimmering in the light, but they captivated a shadowed loneliness, something no one could cure. "That was Murdoc." she breathed, slowly eying the nurse who's expression hardened at the mention.

"Believe it or not...that is your choice..._But_ I have known Murdoc in total for six years. I cannot tell you he was perfect, because I would be lying. He was not the best, or the _most_ intelligent, or even continually thoughtful. He is like us. Human: born, raised, living. He has thoughts and feelings...chooses when to express or use them. He can feel pain...pity...fear...but he _never_ felt that towards _himself_." the teen mumbled, allowing her fingers to dangle over the edge of the rail. "We are as clueless as you are, Mrs. Mar. We do not understand the cause of his actions or why he intends on ignoring us so. He does not want our help. He does not care anymore..." At this, her voice was barely sound, definite refusal when it came to tears among strangers. A simple clear of the throat was necessary, but Noodle chose to swallow harshly instead. It was less noticeable.

Allowing her lashes to eventually bat against her cheeks, Odessa rubbed her own arms, staring down at the landfill below. Why they had one in the first place was beyond her, but it spoke more than they did with its stench, a certain scream that said "clear me out or you'll all die of the toxins in the air." The aid gave the girl some time to gather up her nerves. She knew this wasn't easy for any of them. "We will not give up on him," Noodle suddenly snapped, glaring out into the heavens, "Never. He may not care, but I do. We do. We just need someone to care for his basic needs while we try to figure out what steps to take. This is a fragile time for everyone...I fully apologize for his treatment towards you...None of us have been spared, I assure you." the teen's voice squeaked, mind zipping through all the moments...his lash at her kind gesture...his brutal attack on the singer...

"Russel!"

Clapping her hands to her mouth, the brunette's eyes widened once she spun around, already knowing something was wrong. Noodle's alarming squeal had rapidly run ice through her veins, turning her heart blue with fear. A whir of purple sped by her and ripped open the balcony door to assist her large friend. Tiny beads of scarlet ran down his arms, the largest amount oozing from his knuckles and dripping to the floor in tiny _pat, pat, pats_. Some cuts were deeper than others, all jagged and crossed in unusual designs, a restrained wince falling through as he avoided bumping into anything, though the singer seemed to have only caused him more pain earlier by grabbing his left arm in efforts to prevent him from falling. Trailing behind him he was, his blood printed palm curled into a ball to keep from dirtying anything, eyes a mixture of astonishment and pain. "What happened?" Noodle demanded, stretching out her arms in question before grabbing the towel Odessa was handing her.

The enormous male said nothing while he gritted his teeth, pinching, plucking, and pulling remaining glass shards from his skin over the sink, hiding himself from his worried audience. Ripping the last sharp piece from his wrist, the drummer groaned, carefully turning the cold knob on the faucet to relieve himself of the bloody arms. "Odessa, could you retrieve some bandages?" the teen asked, pointing her out the door as an order. The woman disappeared in a breath, passing the silent singer on her way. From his corner he watched, scratching his arm caught in the brace, biting his lip when his nail caught a stitch and slightly snagged it. Backing away, Noodle left Russel to pour his blood down the drain, turning to 2D with a solid face.

"What happened?" she mouthed, stiff upper lip on the verge of a snarl, as if it were his fault. Glancing to the side, the thin artist rubbed his elbow and jerked his head, "_Murdoc's fault._" his face read. Placing her hand over her eyes, the green eyed guitarist sighed. He wasn't going to give up. Not now...not ever. They couldn't live like this. She didn't want to lock him up. It was heartbreaking just thinking about it, pulling tears from her eyes behind her hand, but she blinked hard, forcing them away. If he left them no choice...

"I have some wraps, hold out your arms."

Russel dropped himself on a pulled out chair, forcing a few wooden cracks from the seat, but it held together. Reluctantly he held out his arms, face cringing as the tape became tighter and tighter around his cuts. "Now we're going to have to soak them in alcohol." Odessa said quietly, wincing when the drummer glared at her, "It will keep from infecting." She scurried out before he could refuse, running to the living room to fetch the bottle from her bag. Apparently, she was lost in a sea of miscellaneous items, neck deep in her large leather purse. Peering out of the kitchen, Noodle stood, arms akimbo, eyes not viewable, but mouth thin, "Russel, what happened? How did he..."

Sighing heavily, the American gently rested his arms against his lap, eying 2D before starting. "I...punched the shower wall...an' it broke." he explained, watching Noodle's mouth pop into a small circle. Her arms hung loosely, neck hinged, "W-Why would you do that? Why not just open the do-"

"Murdoc blocked it wit tha' new shower bench...we couldn't open the door. It wos the only way." the lanky artist interrupted, stepping forward, only to be pushed to the side when Odessa charged in with two bedpans filled halfway with burning cleanser. Getting the chance to miss out on more of Russel's suffering, Noodle grabbed 2D's good arm and yanked him into the hall, checking to make sure Odessa didn't find the urge to ask anything of them. "Where is he?" she whispered darkly, fists balled up into her palms. Patting her shoulder, the bluehead shook his head, "No worries, Noodle. Please jus' leave 'im. 'e's in no condition...an'...an'...neither are you." Pulling away sharply, the Japanese teen scowled. Who was he to judge her capabilities? Although...the last face to face did destroy a bit of her emotionally. And what if he was still nude? Hope downtrodden, the Asian axe princess leaned her head against the singer's caved in belly, a perfect cradle for her shape of noggin.

"I am sorry." she whispered, nodding her head and the vocalist smiled, patting her close. Things were only going to get worse. They both knew it. That's how everything went. Bad...worse...horrible...petrifying...hell...and then better. Curse the theory of hitting rock bottom before rising back up. Eyes widening, the dark orbed male stared down, certain the dampness he was feeling was either tears or drool, but leaning more towards tears. He stood there, clueless and mind frosted. He was just about through with everyone moping, even him. Resting his chin atop her head, 2D blinked, "'ey Noodle?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Yeh gotta stop."

Lifting her head, the guitarist gazed up confused, tears in fact running down her cheeks. "...Stop?" she asked meekly.

Rubbing near the front of her bangs (shuffling them a bit as well), he leaned back for the wall to support him once again, "Its enough Murdoc's 'it the floor...we can't be tha' way, too. We'll never 'elp 'im tha' way. We gotta keep our 'eads on. Yeh've been cryin' a lot...I mean...I-I've been tryin' teh keep it together, but when you start up...I..." he tried, feeling his throat closing on him. The teen's thin arms wrapped around him, cuddling close, "Perhaps...we need a break. A time set to recuperate...All of us...well...you, Russel, and I. Something quiet and common...to clear our minds. I have not been able to meditate since." she sighed, and 2D bobbed his head in complete understanding, "I know 'ow yeh feel. Ev'rytime I close m' eyes, m' mind snaps teh the mess..."

"We should inform Russel about it to see how he feels...and soon."

"Like b'fore Odessa turns 'im into a mummy?" the singer softly smiled, actually receiving a slight form of giggle. That was something he hadn't heard in a long time. The long deserving moment was interrupted however when Odessa poked her head out into the hall, peeking in on them, "The custard cakes are ready..."

&&&

Outside the crows cawed mercilessly, flying in circular rotation relentlessly without rest. Inside, it was dead and soundless. Noon had just passed, before three friends drove off in a dark olive Hummer but after the bassist's eyes had closed, now atop a clean mattress, bedsheets, and even his quilt. It no longer smelt of horror and malfunction, but of open fields and fresh air. The scent was nauseating to the dark British jailbird, whipping the covering from his body as soon as the smell flew up his nose. They dared enter his sacred sanctuary, sterilize his items, and replace his foreboding, dank, and fly attracting body with a somewhat cleaner form? If he had cared, the bassist would have rearranged faces with genitals and worse, then hide back in his Winnebago to score another booze filled night, leaving sleep to erase his mistakes and regrets. If he had cared...

He said nothing while he stared at his ceiling, legs covered in plaid black pajama pants and torso strapped with a white tee, his fingers scratched over and over at each other on his belly, his mind completely blank of thought. What exactly was he doing there? What was he trying to prove? What were they trying to prove by keeping him there? He had made their lives terrible...horrible...he was trying his worst and still they stayed? Still they longed to communicate? It was all too confusing. They weren't going to let him be. It wasn't worth it, but they couldn't see that tidbit of information. They just couldn't see it. Blinded, it seemed, by emotion, rage, or something or other. However, Murdoc Nicalls was a man of choice. What he wanted, he would get. Eventually.

Even if it was from under their noses.

"Afternoon, Mr. Nicalls."

"_Shit_." was the bassist's thought, closing his wide eyes to appear sleeping. Lately, she had been leaving him alone when he wanted sleep, a deed his own friends couldn't handle, but his friends were used to his cruel antics, and this woman cleared away from them as soon as possible. The shower incident had him free from her clutch for almost the rest of the previous day, up until she was needed to move him from the shower stall back to his bed, which was around nine at night. He hadn't noticed. Time just drifted on peacefully. By the time the bassist was found, his olive skin had tainted a purple blue color, bumps trailing up and down his body to the limit of deformation. He was immediately covered with thick fuzzy towels that itched him all over, but said nothing while the dullard and lards pulled him out carefully, not to drop him on the glass that was still presently shattered on the floor. He noticed Russel's arms had been tended to and he was doing his best not to have them bump into anything, though he failed miserably, grunting and huffing with each movement. Odessa had quickly searched through his drawers to find him some decent sleeping clothes since underwear didn't deem her as proper attire. It took her a good twenty minutes to find the one pair of pj pants he was currently wearing, shoved to the back of his closet still in its packaged wrapping. The white tee was one of the few shirts in his drawer that didn't have beer stains on it or smell like it was hiding human body parts, Black Sabbath printed on the front in goth signature.

The quiet man had awoken much earlier, not on purpose, mind you, but because he had felt something. A tiny insignificant pain just above his right knee. Not an itch or numbing of any sort, but almost as if something had pinched him and then gone. He _felt_ something on his dead limb and it was enough to keep him pondering until just now. Skipped breakfast as always...ignored lunch...hunger was no longer apart of him and if he were to see his own reflection, he most likely would not recognize himself. His popped drum like belly had been shrinking...his muscles clung to his bones, skin sucked to his skeleton. The color of his epidermis was paling from its usual dirty green to a sickly gray peach. No longer nails, Murdoc now bore claws from his hands to his feet, unkempt, filthy, and dangerous. He never had an interest to grow a beard in the past, usually it was kept to clean, whiskers, or a slight mustache, but now his face was shadowed in short hairs trailing down from his sideburns to under his nose, lips, and chin. Hair clipped over in different directions since it hadn't been properly dried, the front curtaining half of his eyesight. Any more and he would be in competition with Noodle...

In total honesty, he was an outward mess, but he refused to acknowledge that fact. It was the others...the others who wouldn't leave him _alone_. Pausing his thinking for a moment, he came to a useful conclusion. They weren't home. He heard them packing up into a car and driving off, and he was positive they hadn't come back. It was convenient to live in the carpark in his situation. They probably thought he was out for the count...but no. He was there...with Odessa...alone. "I made this yesterday, but I've kept it chilled so the custard wouldn't leak through the cake." the woman's cheerful voice announced, a light clatter to his left indicating that she had placed the plate on his nightstand. "It ought to make you feel better. I cleaned up your...uhm...room, and freshened it out."

That's why it looked like hell...

The short aid tilted her head as she gazed down on him. It would appear that he was sleeping...again. Nothing this man was doing for himself was healthy. She gently combed the hair from his closed lids, hearing a slight grumble, and took a step near his legs, pinching her fingers at the hem of the cuff and pulled up to his knee in order to inspect his leg. This caused Murdoc's eyes to shoot open and glare at the woman before him, willing to give his fortune for the opportunity to knock her right in the mouth. Completely unaware that the patient was, indeed, awake, Odessa pressed two fingers along the muscles, pausing thoughtfully when the bass slayer yelped at the touch of his right thigh. "THA' 'URTS!" he hissed, slapping her hand away. Instead of a surprised, or hurt, or fearful expression overcoming her facial features, the auburn haired woman rubbed her chin curiously, tapping her bottom lip with sincere conclusion. It was when she tried a second attempt to pressure on the same area that Murdoc lifted himself into a seated position, crossing his arms darkly, "Wot the _fuck_ do yeh think yo' doin'?" he snapped darkly. A smile met his glower and a small clap of cheer, "You never said you were feeling pain in your legs before!"

Silence.

"But to your friends? Anyone!"

"Don't care." he said quietly, laying back down, though deep inside it had shook him like a bell. He knew something was wrong for his leg to be hurting that way. He just...didn't care.

Pulling his thrown quilt over him neatly, Odessa sighed, "Well, you should care. And you should get to a doctor right away. I know you haven't been doing your exercises, but with a little hope and practice, you might have the ability to be on your feet again. I'm not sure if you knew that or not. You just need to set your mind to it. Anything can be done with determination."

Staring off blankly, Murdoc mentally shook his head. If she only knew how hard he had been trying...and the deed was still not done. Determination had nothing to do with it. It was just the luck of the draw. Pulling his torso to the right, the bassist ignored his aid who persisted in talking when no one listened. She would eventually get the hint. Or so he cursed. He squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance, when he felt a dead limb lift, then slowly be set down. Peering over his shoulder with anger boiling in his eyes, he watched as Odessa repeated her action on the leg that felt pain, yanking her wrist downward, "...Leave me _alone_." he growled, throwing her from him to lie back down.

"But...I'd really advise that you-"

The male's sudden action startled her back into his separation unit, raising himself and his pointer finger into her face, "Yeh really think I give a _fuck_ wot you'd advise? AFTER 'IS 'OLE TIME, YEH 'ONESTLY THINK I GIVE A FLYIN' _FUCK_?" he screamed, almost on the verge of falling off his own bed. The woman's large blue eyes grew wide with a sharp swallow as he grunted angrily, double colored eyes never leaving her. "I never asked for yeh teh be 'ere. I didn't call yeh teh be 'ere. I don't want yo' 'elp. DON'T _WANT_ IT." he hissed with a glare, "I ain't some fuckin' old bloke yeh can make a monkey of. Yeh can't tell me wot teh do, yeh stupid _bitch_, an' I dare yeh teh tell me otherwise. Yeh've been pissin' me off past my limit. I'm warnin' yeh, bug me one more time an' I'll make yo' life such a livin' 'ell yo' _kids _'ll be feelin' it."

With this he dropped back to his mattress, out of breath and will to say another word. Stepping out of the small space, Odessa closed the sliding material and climbed out of the Winnebago, face stone. She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not, but the threat was very clear. How was she to do her job when all her job was of assistance? Russel told her they wouldn't be back until six. Finding herself in the living room, the young aid rubbed her temples, seating herself on the scarlet couch. Well, she could look at the situation in two ways. The first was blow off his little rant and continue what she was getting paid for. The second was take his threat into consideration, have the thick toned drummer straighten him out...and then be in a worse predicament than she was already in. Why didn't she become a hospital nurse like she had always wanted...?

Down below, Murdoc turned, shoving his face into his pillow, unable to sleep. His blood was boiling...he needed...peace. But he was never going to get it with that woman around. Allowing his arm to hang, the bassist reached under his bed, throwing various items until he found the one he was looking for. A phone book. Gently he placed it under his cushion and thought. He knew he had an older one...probably in his bathroom somewhere. How he was going to get there was the question. Energy was something that was a privilege to him nowadays...He'd manage. Odessa was wrong. Determination didn't get anyone anywhere. The word she was looking for was desperation.

&&&

All the clocks in the building hit four unanimously. It was quite dark out, especially for Kong Studios. The clouds were clotting the sky, allowing slight rainfall to pitter along the flat rooftop of Kong. Odessa had fallen asleep for an hour to daytime television, waking to a home shopping network of rubbish she would never need in her life. Quickly she turned off the tube and made her way into the kitchen, making some soup for herself to settle her rumbling stomach. Staring out the window as she sipped her meal, the pale woman eyed the left over liquid in the pot, thinking of the man downstairs. He hadn't eaten anything since the day she came, and probably before that. A small knot tied in her belly, taking the breath from her to sigh or groan. Pouring the rest into an unchipped bowl, Odessa went down the stairs, careful not to spill the hot soup on herself or the floor. She was sure the last thing he wanted to see was her, but all she was planning to do was leave his meal on his nightstand in hopes that he might get the urge to nourish himself. She wasn't sure what he was urinating anymore. Presumably stomach fluids that were sucking him dry.

She paused once reaching the door of the Winnie. She was sure he was talking to someone...or in any case in Kong, something. He was hushed and smooth, extremely careful in pronouncing his words for some reason, though she couldn't make out what he was saying. Now it was nearing whispers. Opening the door with her free hand, the woman peeked in over the counter, not able to see much since she had pulled the separator closed before she left. His talking had ceased, and all she could hear was his unstable breathing. Swallowing nervously, her small hand softly opened the case, replacing the untouched cake with her newly made soup. Staring or sleeping sideways he was, facing the wall and not her. Glancing around, she found no one but him in the cramped space, unable to identify what he had been doing...or if he had been doing anything at all. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her...it was possible. She was alone, expecting the worst to happen. That's when the mind takes a hold of you. When you're expecting it to.

Shrugging, she turned to leave, a cold chill running down her back. "...I wos wonderin' when you were gunna come back." Closing her eyes for a moment, she silently scolded herself for her good heart, glancing over her shoulder, "I brought you soup. That's all. Eat it if you want it. I've done my part." A dark sparkle filled the emptiness in his eyes, though she couldn't see it. "_An' I've done mine._"

Lifting his arm, he slowly grabbed the bowl, moved his wrist a bit, and gently released midair. It was the sound of broken glass that had Odessa spinning on her heel, completely startled, but not at all surprised. The bowl had been shattered, thick pieces decorating the floor while the yellow fluid spread into the groves of the hard plastic and under the bassist's bed. Bending his arm back in, Murdoc placed it on his stomach, eyes focused into space, "I wosn't 'ungry." Closing her eyes tightly, the woman grit her teeth, seething as her fingers curled into hard balls, the top of her hands popping their veins. "That gives you no reason to make a mess of it." she growled, arms shaking from the fury. She had just cleaned that previously disgusting trailer, and it was already back to her knees for her.

"Clean it."

Biting down on her lip, the aid held in a deep breath, slowly kneeling down to pick up the shards of bowl scattered along the floor. She gathered up the pieces in her dress, of course staining it in the meanwhile. Within seconds she dumped the broken bits into a nearby dumpster (they had about four lining the wall for some reason) and returned with a sponge and paper towels, face as stony as marble. Blinking slowly, Murdoc gently turned his head, eying the woman as she met the floor, shoving her nails into the groves with the towels, breaking two or three against the stiff rubber matting. The entire Winnie now smelled of boiled carrots and chicken, but the bassist ignored the stench as he did with any other unpleasant scent that dared entire his nose. "Yeh clean like a slut." he said quietly, eyes set on the anticross he had hung at the opposite end of the wall a good year ago. It was silver...with black trimmings of spiral design. Just like his life...it spiraled downwards.

"Excuse me?"

Odessa had paused her cleaning although she had just promised herself not to engage in any worthless conversation, considering it always ended the same way: with her cleaning, stressed, and a sadistic maniac still in her care, but she couldn't help but reply to this comment. It was beyond rude and inappropriate, but it was also untrue. Sitting on her folded legs, the auburn haired aid gripped the sponge in her hand as if decapitating it, suds and faded golden liquid mix of water and soup running down between her fingers, blotting her lap. Where did that sweet child see the goodness in this man? That's what she wanted to know. Multicolored eyes shifting about lazily, the male answered again, voice monotone, "I said...yeh clean like the cunt yeh are...pathetic. Yeh don't get enough at 'ome an' yeh come teh bother someone 'ew's..." he started, ending into nothing, swallowing his last word.

"Mr. Nicalls, I assure you there is nothing in this world that you can say that will prevent me from doing what I am paid to do, and _that_ is all. I know you don't want me here, but quite frankly I'm tired of your slander against me. _Enough_." she hissed, scrubbing the sticky floor from its stain. "You 'ave a kid, don't yeh..." he whispered so low she could barely hear it, but upon reaching her ears the woman stopped, a dark pit forming within the center of her. What was he getting at? Her crispy blues shot up, both dark and curious. The man's chest rose and descended, making himself comfortable in his sorrow. Slowly Odessa rose from the floor, squeezing out the mess in his bathroom sink, the only place of the Winnie that she didn't one hundred percent clean, and not because she didn't want to. It was just embedded so deep they would need professionals to get the scum out. Pulling himself to his left, Murdoc dug his arm under his pillow, nauseated at the smell of "clean" that wafted through his cushion, and popped an eye, glaring out as she glanced at him. "I bet yeh can't wait teh get 'ome..." he grunted with a snort.

"_You have no idea._" thought the woman, though she remained silent. Closing her eyes with a slight shake to her head, Odessa straightened up, hearing an engine off in the distance. Only few people were crazy enough to drive by Kong Studios, but this engine was getting closer. She assumed the rest of the band was coming back. Her shift was over. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow." she bid, dusting off her hands grouchily while making her way down the trailer's wide steps. Had she stayed a few seconds long, she might have caught the sound of the bassist's tired voice, already drifting into slumber, "We'll see..."

&&&

"I miss drivin', Russ...I could drive..."

"Not wit that thing on yo' arm, D."

"Aw, c'mon...yeh don't need two 'ands teh drive..."

Rolling her eyes with a sigh, Noodle crossed her arms, thankful when Russel finally parked within the security of their carpark, windy funnels, poor lighting, and all. Her shoulders were wedged between bags of clothing and other various items that belonged to the boys. She had taken the trunk for herself, taking up every bit of space and even had a small one resting on the singer's lap, his braced arm currently resting on her two hats and pair of thigh highs. "After you get that thing off your arm." she muttered, breathing happily when Russel opened the door to her right and gave the girl her non-cramped freedom.

"That'll be in forever..." the singer grumbled, stepping out himself. From the corner of his eye he noticed the Winnebago bouncing a bit, watching further to realize it was Odessa leaving it. She said nothing to them, but only ran up the stairs in a hurry, almost running for her life. Strange, he thought, but not unusual. Shrugging his good arm, he looped a couple of his own bags, having Noodle help him with the rest, mostly movies, games, and junk food to store somewhere in secrecy. "Was that Mrs. Mar?" the teen asked once she and the singer were both in the solitude of his room. Her voice came out uneven and quiet, glancing over her shoulder at the door she entered through. Taking the bag filled with mini chip bags and candy, 2D shoved it under his bed, grunting as he tried lifting himself back up. Carefully placing her fingers within the bars, Noodle aided him, leading him to sit back on his bed. "Fanks...an' yeah, it wos...bit of a 'urry, eh?"

"Yes..."

"...I don't know 'ow she does it, 'onestly..."

Silence passed between the two as their eyes glanced around, finally ending back on each other. Rubbing her wrist, the guitarist started, "Something is not right..." Slowly agreeing, 2D poked his finger between the metallic beams on his arm, "You feel it, too..."

&&&

Yellows...oranges...reds...and even light purples mixed into the baby blues of the heavens, dedicating time and energy to generate daylight to the world. If not for the hour long event in the early hours of the morning, the world would be caught in eternal darkness, and life would cease to exist. Sadly, many people are caught up in the rush of work and readiness between getting dressed, showered, and finding something to eat to enjoy the beauty of nature. Others just sleep through the wonder, minds floating in abyss of false reality. But those at Kong manor are devoid of such privilege, sights covered up with the grays and blacks of the blotchy sky, occasional rain and fierce winds when not for the unusual sunshine. It was during the time of sunrise when the residents received the news. It was a call, the line filled with static from the winds outside, and possible zombie interference, but the message was not lost. No...it was made very clear in the simplest of words.

Blinking once or twice (he couldn't remember), the tallest reached out and pressed the receiver to his ear while the two others ate their breakfast, awaiting the woman who would customarily arrive at this time. Normally, he would be sleeping, Russel would just be getting up, and Noodle would be fully dressed, already beating the sun by an hour in time. But today, Odessa seemed to be late. Perhaps sick, and they would send some replacement before Murdoc gagged himself or worse, but...the words stung the singer in both let down and heartbreak...knowing he had been right the entire time.

"Mr. Pot?"

"Yes?"

"I quit."

**&&&**

**Author's Note**: _Sorry for not updating the entire summer, but I moved again. Yes, for those who know me and have read my other stories, you know I've moved already four times in three years. Nothing much I can do about it, but my time is consumed now by unpacking (and before it was packing) boxes, redoing my room, and now finding a college. Isn't that cozy. Wrong. It downright pisses me off. But, again, its out of my grasp. Well...here's the chapter I owe all of you since two months ago. But I did put my time into each word, so please review. I've spent half of my month sleeping in between packing and watching Foamy online. Yes, my summer's are so wonderful._


	10. The Last Resort

**The Last Resort**

The words vibrated inside the singer's head like a horrible migraine, pounding reality into the part of his brain that received most use. Now what were they to do? "B-But...yeh can't! Please!" he begged, keeping his voice low as he glanced over his shoulder, noticing Noodle peeking at him from the kitchen table. He turned towards the door, avoiding the coffee table and sat on the couch. The phone nearly fell to the floor in his nervous excitement, lips kissing against the receiver, "We need yeh..." His eyes closed regretfully, bobbing his head as the woman's terms were read to him sentence by sentence. She wasn't going to stay, whatever her reasons were. Perhaps she had snapped...or was finally fed up with Murdoc once and for all...maybe her wages weren't worth it...

"Yes...awright...fanks anyways." the thin man sighed, tapping his forehead with the phone. Why did he always have to bring bad news to everyone? He could just imagine the worry glued to the eyes of his friends and the relief on Murdoc's when the news was broadcasted in Kong. Whatever he did, the bastard definitely knew how to scare someone off, or at least piss them off enough to leave for good. "Is everything all right?"

Opening his hollow eyes, the bluehead hung up the receiver, leaning his elbow on the scarlet armrest to prop up his head. Here was the first hit. "Noodle..." he started, avoiding her eyes at all costs. He wouldn't be able to bear anymore sorrow from his angel love. She was suffering most of all...if only Murdoc could understand that...

He lifted his caged arm, placing it on his lap to stare at it wearily, "She quit." the man whispered, the small gasp escaping from Noodle's mouth unmistakable to his ears. His eyes lingered on his swollen arm, the stitches making an interesting indent within his flesh. The teen said nothing as she sat beside him, sinking into the cushion with her fingers pressing her temples. This was just great. Another aid down the drain...and she had been nice, too. Perhaps that was the problem...she was nice...and Murdoc...well...

"What are we going to do?"

"Call another one up?"

"On such short notice?"

Tilting his head slightly, the gifted man blinked slow, focus on the girl's fingers in their circling motion, "Wot else can we do? I can't do much wit 'is arm, an' Russ needs time for those cuts teh 'eal. 'ere's only so much you can do, love." he explained, softly, but clearly. And he was right. Murdoc's condition wasn't at any point a trial and error test. He needed someone to watch him. Even if it was for two seconds, just to check. It would leave the man's mind boggled into another scheme of how to rid them next and avoid leading back to his own destruction. One day the bandmates could handle, but long periods of time, they were going to need someone, and quick.

As the two talked, neither had realized Russel popping his head in silently to listen. "_She's gone...I don't blame her but...damn._" he thought to himself. What could have gone so wrong that she'd up and leave without notice prior to quiting? Disappearing back into the kitchen, he figured it must have been when they were gone. When she stormed out of the Winnebago...he knew something was off. They all knew it, but they chose to ignore it. He assumed she could handle it. She had dealt with the nasty tone...the vigorous actions...the rude behavior...and stayed. Picking up a filthy oatmeal crusted bowl, the drummer started scrubbing. If she had only told him...he could have taken care of it. As much as it would have pained him, he would've straightened Murdoc out, as he did the last time. He would have...

Shaking his bald head, the New Yorker set the bowl down and let the water run. No...no, he couldn't. Not again. Not until Murdoc was his old, grouchy, proud, stuck up self would the dark skinned male ever be able to roughhouse him again. It was just too...hurtful. His chest nearly torn open the moment his hand had collided with the bassist's cheek, silencing them all within seconds. He had stomped up the stairs, heavy thuds cracking the old wood or cement as he charged up to his room, locking himself away in solitude to drown in his own guilt. His fist slammed against the wall, sending a large crack up to the ceiling, but he lacked the concern. All that was on his mind was the replay of the man's face...the blotch of print across his cheek...the disappointment and break of betrayal in his eyes...But what else could he do? He left him no other choice...he forced him to...

"Russel?"

The American rose his head, realizing he had been leaning against the counter, his head halfway in the sink, though not close enough to the running water to get wet. Already he had a pain in his neck, but he cracked it quickly, eying the worried teenager in the doorway. He offered her a small smile, a smile of comfort, the same he used when she was much younger and a little less knowing of the world. It always used to settle her nerves, but not this time. No, she was shaking like a rattle on the inside, but Russel could see right through her. The guitarist's eyes said it all. "I'm fine, baby girl." he reassured, pushing on the water tab, "Just thinking to myself."

"...Only to yourself?" she asked with a minute smile of her own, almost playfully locked into a grim setting, but the man nodded, drying his hands off on his shirt, "Yeah, just me."

"Odessa..."

"I know."

Sighing in somewhat of a relief, the Japanese musician patted her own shoulder, clutching onto it. At least she wouldn't have to explain. But she would need to convince him to make the next call. 2D wouldn't have anything of the sort. He was through with social working people and their ways of speaking. It confused him, angered him, and constantly reminded him of that night...over and over again. No more. The torch was passed. Noodle had made the first call, and it hadn't gone so well. Maybe Russel could talk some sense into them...send them someone worth having. The large one always had a knack for picking out the best. It was a strange talent. Murdoc had often boasted that he had found Russel and it was he who discovered the best of the best because he would settle for nothing less. To a certain extent, it was true. He _had_ found 2D...or created 2D, by himself, and to that he earned due credit. But it was Russel who had agreed to some along on the scavenger hunt for musically inclined personnel, he who had said yes to being part of the Brit's band, he who had approved of Noodle's unknown talents before Murdoc scoffed at the idea of having a child around and 2D's loving blindness of having an adorable best friend. But no one ever gave the man the credit _he_ deserved. Normally Murdoc lapped it all up, leaving the empty dish for Russel to clean for the next fill, however Murdoc was now in the furthest part of right mind anyone could dare to assume, and so his life was depending on Russel to fix, whether it knew it or not.

Crossing her arms behind her, the short female rubbed her calf with her foot, a bit of awkwardness looming around her. Usually she was straightforward with such situations, but the entire week had drained her of any strength. "We...2D and I...were hoping...we do need another aid...I mean Murdoc..." she tried, peeking through her violet curtain at the large man before her, raising his hand for her to be mute. "I'll take care of it. Just...send D to check up on Muds. Peek in an' make sho' he's breathin'." the dark toned male responded, glancing out the cloudy window. Bobbing her head slowly, Noodle slowly left the room, peeking back at Russel staring into space. This is what it had come to. Constant worrying and frustration...each hurt in their own personal way all because of one man. The one who had brought them all together...was now breaking them all down and possibly closer than ever.

She shifted her head, giving her a better view of 2D through her bangs, swallowing quietly. He too was distracted by thought. This was her chance. At quiet as the dead that didn't rise again, she made her way down the hall, down the stairs, and down into the depths of the carpark where the heart of Kong stood, parked and silent. Her chest rose with the oxygen inhaled, her hands loose and swinging, her feet bringing her ever so closer to a place she had always been forbidden to enter unless personally invited. What was making her so nervous that her entire arm twitched when lifted to open the Winnie door? The deep breath wasn't doing it for her. Releasing it, she pulled down on the knob, swinging it open as soundlessly as she could. It was only to see if he was still breathing...in Russel's words. This didn't call for any socializing. It was an in out job.

Raising her leg, Noodle lifted herself in nimbly without even shifting the unstable trailer. Her face was almost scraping against the floor as she hung forward, doing her best to stay out of sight, but for nothing because his pully wall was closed. Rolling her emeralds before shutting them tight in annoyance, the teen lifted herself up and leisurely strolled down the center, nearly afraid to touch anything on the sides. "_Just to see if he is breathing..._" she reminded herself, her fingers reaching for the handle. Breaking it a small crack, her eyes darted for the male, expression frozen without choice. He was sleeping...pathetically thin and practically breakable. It seemed one flick would have him in pieces. His hair was a mess as was his shadowed face, half of it shoved nose deep into his pillow, his blanket a mess everywhere except his lower half...the half he couldn't control. In that time pause, Noodle wrestled herself down to prevent sobbing, screaming, gasping, or even hugging for fear it would shatter the moment of Murdoc seeming somewhat normal. Everyone had to sleep...it was only human. She just had to ignore his unhealthy inhumane qualities and all would appear without turmoil...at least, in her imagination. This was the Murdoc who snuck her candy after desert, explained the mysteries of life, no matter how graphic, offered her smiles that actually meant something and made the craziest situations seem worthless.

That Murdoc was trapped in this Murdoc's body somewhere. The Murdoc she had explained to Odessa...the one she focused on in her memories...the leader of music's greatest birth. Her lashes batted softly, her head leaned against the wall, and her fingers hooked on the removable plastic. There had been a reason for Russel's wanting her to send the singer...and now she understood why. A single tear ran down her cheek and lingered on her chin for a moment before diving for the floor, creating a hardly noticeable "pat" against the stiff rubber. Her eyes followed the emotion filled droplet until it stained the floor, a thin amount of hope that anything useful could be done, and decided to give the man one last glance before leaving. Raising her view to his body once more, she nearly screamed her lungs bloody before terror took the sound, teeth grit and jaw stiff, eyes locked with his.

They were open to normal capacity, not sleepy or slack or even weary. More surprised than anything. A nasty form of shock for the sleeping man who was expecting anyone but the current snooping around his Winnie and gawking at him in his subconscious thought. The moment was beyond awkward and past unexplainable...He hadn't seen her in days...over a week possibly. Not since she had announced someone was going to assist him in his daily needs...and the only thing he could offer to her was a stuttered caution of replacement. His fingers stiffened with their claw likeness, curved over his belly that started to rise and fall with speed. Faster and faster until she could almost hear the wheeze from his nostrils, unsure if he was suffering a heart attack, or just anxiety. Well, to answer Russel who was staring at the singer still on the couch...he was most definitely breathing.

A dry cough scraped out his throat, but no form of words slipped him. There was nothing he could say to her now. Nothing had been planned, not including Noodle, anyway. Sucking in her bottom lip, the teen popped her gum, realizing he hadn't heard the news yet, though it probably wouldn't surprise him. "...She quit..." the girl said quietly, but only accepted the cold, empty stare Murdoc was exhibiting. He figured as much. After what he did, most normal people would have followed in her exact footsteps. Odessa was a smart woman. Annoying? Yes. Daring? Perhaps. She was no genius, but her common sense worked a hell of a lot better than the singer's.

Once in a purple moon, the bassist would wonder about the blueheaded young pup, why he would put up with such inhumane treatment from someone shorter and louder than he. Easily enough, he could have packed his few things in a bag, loaded them into any car of his choice, adjusted the rear view mirror with a side grin and a middle finger, and driven off to where ever his heart's content landed, never to be heard from again. It sounded simple and quick, a holy answer to anyone in his position, but that wasn't a Stuart Pot personality.

No, his way was to suck it up because there is good in every bad. To Murdoc, Kong was a wasteland of rejected shit, a sediment of God's heel, the end of the road when your car breaks down and it starts to rain and when you think it can't get any worse, some drunk driver slams their car into you and you die a horrible lonely death of gore. Yes, this was his view on his own home, a place he searched high and low for, just for the easy price and storage space. But according to 2D, it was a building loaded with great memories worthwhile and a monster lover's paradise. It was his Graceland...the Neverland of all childrens' and adults' dreams alike, a place where anything could happen (which was true for the most part). A cooking failure of Noodle's (when she had been younger) was a treasure to the dunce singer, a complete rejection for the wild man. Murdoc lived a dark life; it wasn't clothing, style, and mannerisms alone. It _was_ his life. Any shadowed crevice...any shaded seem and he would be there, lingering in its comfort.

Now that's what confused him about 2D. Rewinding back to the get up and leave scenario, he knew the tallest had three problems with that golden idea, even if he had wavered on the thought. One: though he may have hated the old grease ball, he would be leaving behind the American percussionist and axe princess...something that would break his heart beyond its limitation. Two: Music had always been his beloved passion...and apart from the land of Kong...there was no acceptance. If Gorillaz was gone...and his identity lost...he would no longer be seen as the voice over angels or the answered prayer for groupie stalkers. The world's love for him would die off, and he wouldn't be sure what to do with himself afterwards. After all...his family was Gorillaz. Including Murdoc. And then...the third reason...

The third reason is what made the bassist the most hateful monster towards the singer in the first place, and the poor man probably didn't even know it. From the moment they met, Murdoc Nicalls caught the flaw, shooting the young male down at everything he did, realizing the more he did this, the more the upcoming singer tried his best at the one thing the dark one couldn't handle. 2D did not live for himself. Every action...every thought...every desire was entirely lived for someone else. For the pride of others...for the approval. His opinion alone could not be accounted for unless someone else had agreed with him. The singer desperately sought the acceptance...the approving smile or nod from the bassist, a sign that what he was doing was not in vain and that perhaps could better them both. But Murdoc would look elsewhere for the vase to his pride...his Winnebago...his bass...the landfill...the monkey's head...anywhere but the bluehead. And it would break the young man down in a silent and slicing way, but he would get up, dust off his knees, and try again, only to fail...again.

That was why 2D stayed. Why he endured the abuse...the neglect...the torture. He wasn't going to stop until he got that nod...that "yes" factor. It was quite a while before the bassist chose to close his eyes, the eyes themselves drying up painfully from lack of moisture. He and the anorexic known pretty boy had more than just music in common. And yes, they did love a good horror or two...but...they had been using their lives for the approval of others...and the addicted affect was tearing Murdoc's life away...little did the singer know. Little did any of them know, but the frail Brit knew too well where his mistake lied, though way too late to fix it. It was all that mattered...and now it...they...were gone.

"...Wh-Why will you not accept o-our...assistance?" the teen asked quietly, a sparkling drop running down her other cheek. Her jaw was near trembling, her fingers now attached to the edge of her blouse, ringing the brim over and over. Murdoc had nothing to say. It wasn't easy to say. He just didn't want it anymore. He didn't want anything anymore. How could one live with themselves when what they had lived for was gone? His eyes roamed to the two lumps at the end of his bed, out of his voluntary bounds...but so close. He couldn't talk to her. Words were meaningless. At least his words were. Why was she here? To let him know the news he knew of? To figure out an unsolvable puzzle? Whatever it was...it had been pointless. She wasn't going to get anything out of him, except heartbreak.

"...I promise you...we will _never_ give up." she whispered, bringing a finger to clear her eye, "I _swear_ it."

At this, the sickly male did the only thing he wanted to do. Gently he turned, facing his wall in hopes that Noodle would leave.

&&&

"You didn't notice her walking down the hall? That's kinda hard to miss." Russel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but 2D grumbled, cradling his injured arm, "Wull, I'm sorry, but 'ere's gotta be a reason why she did it an' didn't tell _me_ to. I told 'er to keep 'er distance, but you know Noodle...she's...a bit stubborn when she 'as notions in 'er 'ead." Leaning his rear against the back of the couch, the singer glanced at the floor. He wanted to help. He really did. But what could he do? Nothing he knew could _really_ help them. Not until Murdoc explained a little...and that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Chatting his teeth a few times, the man's bony fingers grasped at the receiver, handing it to the drummer. It was time.

Gripping at the piece of computerized plastic, the large American made his way into the hall, calling the last number that had called their residence. As the phone dialed automatically, Russel slowly strolled down the long, broken corridor, seating himself at the first stairwell step he saw and breathed in grimly. For twenty minutes he was left on hold until a clear voiced (though spoken low) woman answered on the other line, reciting company logo and their excepted service. Leaning his left shoulder on the wall, the black male sniffed lightly, "Uh, yeah. How you doin'...I'd like another home aid. Our last one quit on us and we need one as soon as possible."

"Patient name, please."

"...Murdoc Nicalls."

There was a bit of quiet as the woman slowed her typing, recalling the name in her mind. "Oh...sir...Odessa Mar was placed to him, correct?"

Wondering where this was going, Russel nodded his head as he leaned forward, eying the stalling singer still floor glued in the living room, "Yes...Is there some kind of a problem? We just want a replacement for her-"

"Sir, quite honestly, this agency is tight knit, and not a very large one at that. Mrs. Mar was harassed daily and sexually harassed personally. The agency cannot be held liable for off duty disturbance, but we _can_ look into other forms of protection and...frankly, no one wants to care for him." she admitted meekly, jumping in her chair when the drummer's voice boomed into her ear. "HE NEEDS HELP, YOU CAN'T JUST DENY US MEDIAL ATTENTION!" he snapped, waving a threatening arm in the air.

"His help is in the psychiatric form, not just disability! We have a right to keep our staff safe! There are homes that people like him are welcomed and cared for-"

"HE AIN'T NO LOON!" Russel hissed, a bit surprised with himself for such a statement. Murdoc Nicalls not crazy? It was actually an understatement, but in his situation, he wasn't psychotic. He was depressed. Suicide didn't come from nothing. It came from the lack of joy in one's life. Murdoc wasn't planning to kill anyone...and not from the joy of ridding life... "Listen...he's suffering from long term depression right now...he's at the end...and he's ready to make the jump. Please..._please_ isn't there anyone you can get so we can figure out what to do? We've never dealt with something like this before...and...we can't let him go like this. He's family...Just...we'll even take someone for a _day_..._please_..." the drummer begged, losing all strength over someone who never gave him a positive word in his life. Why was he doing this? What if it was all a waste of time? Why...why...why?...Because he was family? Softly blinking, the drummer sighed, wiping the accumulating sweat off his forehead. That word seemed to click with him. He did join them all together...Murdoc...Russel...2D...Noodle...It just wasn't the same without the first.

Figuring the receptionist must have given up and hung up the phone during his plea, Russel slid his finger over the red button, about to press down when her voice came out gently, "Mr...?" Giving his white orbs a once cap, he lifted the phone to his ear, "Hobbs. Russel Hobbs."

"Mr. Hobbs...I think...we might have someone."

Russel could have sworn his heart stopped in that moment, "You do?"

"We might. But...she's not in today. I'll leave her a message and she'll most likely get back to us tomorrow. If so, she'll be there in two days." the woman whispered, almost as if her giving this type of information was forbidden. The large one could have bear hugged her, "Oh thanks, you have no idea...thanks." was all he could spit out, rubbing his aching neck.

&&&

Two days had passed without a call from the agency. Russel was beginning to wonder if the hope he and the others had been holding was false. Without a word he was, rocking from side to side on a swivel chair in the studio's second kitchen, a small snack room, really, for when the band needed a break. 2D always kept his water on the top shelf of the mini fridge, Noodle, her frozen treats on the second, and Murdoc, his beer in the third. Russel kept nothing in the cooler since he usually ate dry foods during practice and either took a water from the singer's shelf or an offered popsicle from Noodle's. Once in a while he would snag a beer for himself, but rarely since he drank it with dinner and (unless there was a party) that was his own self made rule. He twirled a pen between his fingers back and forth, back and forth, until it flew across the room, pegging against the garbage can and spooking Mike from his sleepy daze. Lifting his head wearily from the table, he glanced at Russel and offered up a smile, accepting the affectionate rub on the head as a reply.

He knew the group had been going through a rough time. He had to share his bed with the reaper's raven for crying out loud, but he didn't complain. Even the bird was quiet and lonesome for the most of it. Without his master...there was no reason to strike terror into peoples' hearts...no reason to screech...and hardly a reason to eat. The bird barely picked at his food anymore, even the freshest zombie finger he would claw at and eventually ruffle his feathers, then settle down to merely stare at it longingly. From Noodle he would accept tidbits of snacks, but Murdoc was his provider, whether it was by opening a window or offering the food from his own hand, the bassist was his guardian...and he was neglecting him as he was himself. Even Mike would shove his bowl under the black feathered beak with a sheer grin, almost as if saying, "_You know you want it._", but the bird would have none of it as long as Murdoc hadn't poured the bag. All of this had the tan monkey under stress. His owners were depressed...the pets were depressed...gloom was one thing that never lingered in Kong, although it should have. And now, it was spreading quickly.

His tail twitched excitedly when the doorbell rang seeing as Russel almost jumped out of his skin and toppled over the seat. A small smile pulled across the primate's face, eager to help his larger friend in need.

Upstairs, the teenage axe princess glanced curiously at the door, wondering who would be there around nine at night. The undead were usually prowling at this hour, jumping whoever was stupid enough to pass through the iron bars and onto haunted grounds. Arching a brow, she hurriedly jumped to the entrance, unlatching every lock they had and swung the door open. Luckily it wasn't raining outside, but it was pretty windy, and one zombie was closing in, a chunk of his chest already torn off by the corner of the visitor's suitcase. With one foot she kicked her two cases in, and kept the third in her hand as a weapon, backing into the house before allowing it to slam shut in the monster's face. Giving her head an awkward scratch, the almond eyed girl snapped all the locks shut, ignoring the desperate groaning outside and turned to lean her back on the door, face to face with the (she presumed) new aid.

She was, to say plainly, very different than Odessa. Her frail arms interlocked each other under her average chest, her tan color clashing with the white blouse she wore over her gray jeans, strapping her chunky thighs in. A belt of massage therapy stones linked together as a belt around her waist, gray and white all stars cloaking her feet. Her light green almond shaped eyes curved in a bit towards her nose, a bit of Asian or Indian definitely in her genes. They stood out against her darker completion, but belonged all the same, matching the minty tips of her long platinum dyed hair. Her nails were painted the same jade color, running along her biceps while her eyes ran along the room, the shock of death coming after her still rattling her bones, but only a little. She wasn't a big fan of fear. A gentle voice pulled her from her examination, forcing her to turn around to the one who had saved her hide from certain death. "Welcome to Kong Studios...I assume you are Murdoc's aid?" the teen greeted, tilting her head slightly at the luggage the woman had brought with her. Strange...Odessa hadn't resided with them...

Picking them up and stacking them neatly, the woman nodded, using her fingers to comb through the mess of hair the wind had terrorized. "Yeah, that's me. Took me forever to find this place...the world seems to die off the closer you get. Almost thought I made a wrong turn." she breathed, leaning herself on the tower of suitcases. Nodding curiously, Noodle took a step forward, "That is when you know you are heading the right way."

"So..." the woman started, running her fingers along the black bag, "Who are you? His sister?" Blinking in a stun, the Japanese guitarist remained silent for a moment. Didn't she know who she was? "Uhm...no. We are not related at all." she answered, a small frown tugging down, "...We are Gorillaz." Arching a brow, the woman squinted, completely lost, "You...what?" Sighing, Noodle lifted a hand in question to take her bags. Obviously not everyone was a fan of their music. But still...not even to know their name? Or the residence they were going to stay in? "I am the guitarist in the band of your patient." she explained quickly and quietly, lifting off the top case, but the nearly white haired woman shook her head, taking it for herself, "Don't worry about these, I'll handle it. Guitarist, huh? Not a huge fan of keeping track of the latest music, so..." she shrugged, taking her things and glancing down both ways of the halls, "...But I'm always willing to listen...which way is the angel?" she scoffed, her voice a bit grim at the end.

Leading the way to the carpark door, Noodle poked her lip, brows furrowed, "You are...staying with us?"

"As long as my check pays twice a month, yeah."

"Oh...I did not know the agency offered that..."

"They don't. _I _do it."

Slowly reaching for the door, the teen turned the knob, revealing the old stairs. "Apparently no one at the agency wanted your Murdoc Nicalls ever since Odessa spread the word. Something about him leaving some less than cleanly message on her answering machine and her husband ended up hearing it. Brought up a whole riot an' their on the verge of splitting." she explained, connecting her fingers then yanking them apart. "Pity. She was a nice girl. She requested a transfer to a different agency though. This Nicalls fellow really did her in." she yawned, a smirk almost falling through. Noodle's frown remained, having not know the reason of why...but now she understood. Her mind could piece together nothing. Murdoc was ruining other peoples' lives at no cost of his own. It was disgusting, no matter how much he was internally suffering. The woman was already halfway down the stairs before Noodle called out to her alarmingly, "...Wait! Should I show you a room?"

Waving a weighted down arm, she shook her head, continuing her way, "Nah, I'll bunk with the guy. Odessa told me he has a couch in his trailer car. That'll be fine. Easier for me to keep an eye on him, eh?" Chest nearly popping in wonder, the teen nodded. This was exactly what Murdoc needed. Constant watch so nothing regretful happened. She was torn between running to find the other two to tell them the good news or preparing dinner for the mid thirties looking female. Instead, she chose to run midway down the steps, catching her before she put her bags down to open the Winnie door, "I am Noodle! If you need anything, we are all upstairs...except 2D. He is there." she called out, pointing to the only other door against the concrete wall. Shifting her luggage off her reddening arms, the woman nodded, closing an eye, "Noodle...2D...right then."

"And Russel. He is also upstairs."

"Noodle, 2D, Russel...an' I got Murdoc." she noted, receiving a positive nod from the teen. "Got it." she smiled, pulling the handle down and giving the door a tug. It opened on the forth pull with an awful crank, squeaking and crying the whole way open, almost as if the vehicle home shared the torture its owner was suffering. Taking an even breath, the woman grabbed two of her bags, one in each hand, and lifted her foot, resting it on the step, but stalling the movement of boost. "Mithily Stinzadu." she replied to the axe expert lingering in the stairwell, surprised that she knew she was still there, "But I like Mitzy better."

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**Author's Note**: _Yay, an early faster update! Bit by bit the pieces fall together, of course taking my sleeping time when school starts next week. Still need a book bag and new clothes...yeh know, if I could drive myself I would...I oughta take the test already. Depending on parents sucks. Oh well. Review._


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